


A Sylvgrid Teen Romcom

by paperpenpal



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Denial of Feelings, F/M, Humor, Love Triangle, Minor Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, No Beta, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Romance, Teenromcom au, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, basically if Sylvgrid were in a teenromcom set in-universe, genre challenge: write a romcom movie, just for fun, love coach sylvain, matchmaker crush, tropey on purpose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25540042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperpenpal/pseuds/paperpenpal
Summary: Ingrid's crush on Dimitri is endlessly endearing and with the ball coming up soon, Sylvain has decided that he'll help one of his dearest friends get the man of her dreams.There's no way this goes wrong right?
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 319
Kudos: 109





	1. The Beginning of The Movie Always Serves as A Setup

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunnilee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnilee/gifts).



> At first this fic was a joke but then the [Sylvgrid discord](https://discord.gg/uz6AMDZ) kept egging me on so now I guess I'm writing a delightfully silly teen-romance movie featuring our favorite couple.
> 
> It's supposed to be lighthearted and fun, so don't take it too seriously.
> 
> Oh, also, quick note in case anyone cares, Dimigrid serves as the setup and Felannie serve as the background beta couple foil so if you're not into that, this might not be the fic for you!
> 
> Also because every movie needs a cheesy soundtrack here's the [spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/06PYlfatA0zrksglAr60BU?si=wC1nI_YITI6r4zLV5liW6A)  
> [Trailer Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mp5YWm5VHwQ)  
> This first chapter is set to track [2](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WUIm01odei0)

At first, Sylvain doesn’t notice it. He’s too busy messing around, contemplating options for the upcoming ball to really worry about what his friends are doing and honestly, Ingrid is pretty good at hiding it - until she isn’t.

She’s not Annette, who used to squeak and blunder and drop things when her very apparent crush on Felix was coming to a head but she’s certainly not the usual cool-as-a cucumber Ingrid they’ve all come to know and love. She is a little more reserved, a little more restrained, and a little more pink.

Sylvain notices it over dinner at first. He’s regaling his friends with yet another wonderful tale about his last very successful date that absolutely no one is interested in when the annoyed glare that Ingrid had been throwing him from where she sits facing him shifts into something softer as Dimitri slides in next to him.

She doesn’t say anything. She just smiles at the Prince who smiles back in greeting, and suddenly, Sylvain’s story is lost to her ears. There is no more scolding from her about how awful he is, no more eye rolls from her direction, instead, he is face-to-face with a bored looking Felix groaning and shaking his head as Sylvain rambles on and on.

He’s not offended. He’s just curious because, for all of Ingrid’s complaining, she is a wonderful friend. She always listens to him, if only to scold, so it’s really interesting when she doesn’t. When instead, she refocuses on her food and listens with a smile whenever Dimitri makes a comment, an easily excused pretty pink dusting her cheeks.

Then it becomes more obvious. Ingrid begins squawking in surprise when Dimitri comes up behind her. Sylvain catches her fiddling with her hair and staring at her shoes, something she hardly ever does because she is usually so focused, confident in the person she is and the person she strives to be. She is distracted, sometimes missing a question that the Professor asks, and one day, bored in class, he notices the way that she not-so-subtly stares into the young princes’ back.

Interesting indeed.

“So,” he says to her one day on weeding duty. It’s getting colder and colder but the weather here at the Monastery is nowhere near the harsh winters in Faerghus. It doesn’t even snow here and weeding is hard enough work that he’s long shed his uniform jacket in favor of the way the cool wind bites against his skin. He can’t slack off with Ingrid, she’ll destroy him if he tries. “Dimitri huh?”

He watches her startle, pitching forward onto her toes from the way she’s squatting. She barely manages to catch herself before settling back on her heels, shooting him one of her sternest glares even as her face begins to turn redder than the cold could excuse. “What about him?” She asks, trying to sound nonchalant, but it doesn’t work on him, not with what he’s seen in the last week and a half, not with the way her voice rises just a little too high.

“Handsome guy huh?” He says casually, turning back to the ground. He pulls at a particularly dug in root and forces it out, grunting as he does so. “I mean, he’s the prince after all, and he’s fit. And that smile-”

“What are you getting at?” Ingrid huffs. She makes a big show of busying herself with the chore but she is clearly not pulling up any weeds.

“I’m saying,” He grunts, hand springing back as the weed goes flying behind him, “Oops, anyway, I was saying that he’d be a great dance partner don’t you think? He’s the right height for you.”

Ingrid stutters and stares, wide-eyed at him, and it’s massively adorable. “I-he’s not-I don’t-”

“Hello Annette, sorry, I must have mistook you for my old friend Ingrid. Don’t know how, she’s taller and blonde and you’re-”

The rest of his sentence is lost to the way he splutters at the blades of grass she tosses in his face.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She huffs, standing up and brushing off her skirt. “I-I’m going to work over there now.”

He has never seen her like this and while the teasing was just too endearing of an opportunity to pass up, he knows when to stop. “Aww, come on Ingrid,” he says, standing up too, “I’m just teasing you. I’m not going to tell him. Promise.”

She stares down at the ground for a moment before looking up, face still red. “You swear?” She asks, sounding vulnerable.

“Cross my heart.” He promises. “Besides, I think it’s cute. You guys would be good together.”

She bites her lip, glancing off towards the side, “Erm, I don’t-”

“I could help you.” He offers, “Maybe even get you that date to the ball.”

She looks at him, studies his face to see if there’s any trace of a joke and must see none because, while he hadn’t intended to offer at the beginning of all this, he finds that should she want it, he does mean it. He means it earnestly.

She raises an eyebrow at him regardless, suspicious. “What’s in it for you?” She asks, hands on her hip.

He almost laughs at how quickly the Ingrid he knows so well returns to her. “Nothing,” he insists, palms up and out, smiling crookedly at her, “Can’t a guy help a friend out out of the kindness of his own heart?”

She rolls her eyes at him, “Someone else maybe,” She says, “You?” She gestures at him, “Definitely not.”

He does laugh this time, not at all offended. “Fine,” he says, reaching for an excuse, “Maybe, it’s because if you’re distracted by a new boy toy-”

She wrinkles her nose at him, “Please Sylvain,” She groans, “Don’t ever refer to our _crown prince_ as a boy toy ever again or anyone else for that matter.”

He grins innocently, “Well, anyway,” he says, “offer still stands.”

She snorts, “Absolutely not. I shudder to think what you think you could do to help me with my -erm.”

“Crush,” He fills in helpfully, “You have a crush.”

She shakes her head vigorously and turns away from him, “Get back to work.”

He doesn’t push her any further. Ingrid says very little to him other than to scold him for slacking off for the rest of the day.

It’s cute. The idea of Ingrid with a crush. It’s just so innocently youthful and honestly, she deserves a little bit of that after everything.

* * *

Ingrid finds him two days later in the stable. They never talked about her little crush or his offer again, although he had thrown her a couple of suggestive looks and nudges that had him paying for it in training or study sessions later.

Still worth every moment.

He’s feeding Blueberry, a beautiful black mare, and brushing her when Ingrid approaches, leaning her back flat against the stable door and crossing her arms as Blueberry nudges her. The initial frustrated look goes away when she coos at the horse, petting her softly.

“Why hello there Ingrid.” Sylvain greets, pausing in his brushing as Blueberry nuzzles into Ingrid's hand, “To what do I owe the pleasure of today?”

“So-” She starts but then bites down on her lip, eyebrows furrowing deeply as if she’s contemplating whether or not approaching him is a good idea.

“Yes?” He encourages, offering her the brush.

Ingrid takes it then sighs, beginning to brush out Blueberry’s mane, “Okay, so let’s say I do have a crush on his Highness…”

“You do.” He insists, “Ingrid, it’s pretty clear that you do.”

She flushes a deep red and refuses to look Sylvain in the eye.

“It’s okay!” He grins supportively, “Ingrid, look,” he says seriously, trying to catch her eye but it’s hard to do with a giant snout in his way, “There is nothing to be ashamed of. It’s okay. It’s totally normal! Hell, it can be a good thing! And honestly, Dimitri is like the best guy to have a crush on. He’s nice and handsome with a really good heart. You couldn’t have picked a better guy to like. Well I mean, you could have picked me but-”

She swats in his direction with a laugh, which he dodges easily considering where Blueberry stands between them, but smiles, finally looking up and breathing out a shaky breath. “Thanks,” She says, but then winces, “But, okay, so I do have a crush on him. Why should I even bother? It’s just a silly little crush and he’s-he’s a _prince_ with tons of suitors I’m sure and I’m just-”

"Okay, okay! That’s step one!” He cuts in, moving over to grab her wrist and spinning her so that she can face him head-on without the excuse of the horse in the way. “None of that.”

“None of what?”

He huffs, annoyed, “Your weird lack of confidence.”

“I have confidence!” She defends.

“Then what were you just about to say?” He challenges, “That you were just what?”

Ingrid glares but doesn’t go further.

“You do have confidence,” He tells her, “In your abilities but for some reason, when it comes to stuff like this, you clam up. Don’t-”

“I’m just not used to this!” She admits, flustered, “This whole…romance and attraction and…and it’s weird? It makes me nervous.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” He says with the warmest smile he can conjure, “I’ll be your coach and together, you’re going to charm the hell out of Dimitri.”

“I don’t know about that…”

“Ingrid, come on,” he says, “You’re already off to a good start. You’re friends with him for one! That’s great! And you also happen to be beautiful which definitely helps.”

She glances away at the word beautiful, once again refusing to look at him.

“Ingrid…” He trails before something hits him, “Wait, hold on- do you really…do you really not think you are?”

She bites her lip.

“Ingrid!” He half-shouts, flabbergasted and almost personally insulted, “You are! You’re beautiful! How are you not aware of this?”

“Stop!” She says, hands on her face, embarrassed, “Please stop-”

“Did you somehow not notice the giant crush Dorothea had on you at the beginning of the year?”

“Dorothea didn’t-” She starts but then stops.

“I knew it! I knew you knew!” He says triumphantly, pointing at her.

“ _I know_ ,” she explains, exasperated and red faced, “Because Dorothea confessed to me. We’re good friends now.”

He feels a very sudden and very strong wave of sympathy towards Dorothea but says nothing about it.

“Alright, well, point still stands. This isn’t going to be that hard. You just need a couple of tips and a little bit of practice. Then, you’ll be the queen in no time.”

This time, when she hits him, he doesn’t manage to dodge. “Ack!” He says, jumping away, “I was just kidding!”

“Sure you were." She glares, "So…we’re doing this then?”

“Yep.” He grins, moving past her to open the stable door. Ingrid steps aside as the door swings open and he begins to saddle up Blueberry. “And your step two starts now. Come on.”

“Come on where?” She asks, watching him dart around.

“We’re going for a ride. You know Blueberry’s missed you ever since you’ve abandoned her for the skies.”

He lets out a long dramatic and sad sigh.

“I did not abandon her.” She snaps, offended, “I left her to you.”

Sylvain beams as he hands her the reigns, “Well, today, I’m leaving her to you. Come on, you steer. I know you like to.”

She takes it.

“Why do I have a feeling that I just agreed to do something really ridiculous?” She says as she hoists herself up, offering a hand to Sylvain when she settles in the saddle.

“Oh come on Ingrid,” he says as takes her hand. “Have a little more confidence in me please?”

“I thought I was just supposed to have more confidence in myself.”

“Well that too yeah.” He grins, “Alright, let’s go.”

“Let’s go _where_ exactly?”

“To town.” He grins, refusing to say anything more when she asks.

This is going to be fun.


	2. It's Not Really A Makeover Scene If She's Already Beautiful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/06PYlfatA0zrksglAr60BU?si=wC1nI_YITI6r4zLV5liW6A)
> 
> [ 3](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rqnw5IfbZOU) and [4](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5HzpPl5a9EA)

It is not particularly unusual for Ingrid to lead the way so Sylvain has no problem settling behind her, his hands at her waist as she steers Blueberry towards town.

He actually likes riding and it is probably the only stable chore that he enjoys but it doesn’t really matter that much to him who holds the reigns. 

Plus, he knows Ingrid misses Blueberry, as much as he teases her about it.

She’s taken Blueberry out at a slow trot which is just as well for him because he hadn’t actually been in a hurry. He had no plans today, except perhaps to see if he could pick someone up in town until Ingrid had approached him.

Honestly, he hadn’t expected this. He would have never ever imagined that Ingrid would accept his help. He had offered it earnestly and he will make damn sure that he takes this seriously but it is unlike Ingrid to agree to his scheme.

She must really like Dimitri.

“You know,” he says. It’s nice out today and the trail is peaceful. Sylvain glances up at the empty trees and smiles into the sunlight. “You could ask Dimitri to go for a ride. Then it can be his hands on you.”

Ingrid elbows him sharply against his ribs. “ _Sylvain,_ ” She scolds, obviously embarrassed. He can see the tips of her ears turn red.

“Hey hey, I was just kidding.” He says playfully but wincing as he does. Ingrid can be quite bony when it came down to it. He’s not sure how. She eats more than he and Felix combined. He brings his hands up to settle on Ingrid’s shoulders for a second, giving her a gentle squeeze to tell her that he means no harm. “I mean, kind of. It’s actually not a bad idea for a date now that I think about it.”

“This is not a date.” 

He rolls his eyes even if she can’t see and resettles his hands tentatively on her waist again. “Of course it isn’t.” He says, “This is a mission. We are taking you into town and we are going shopping.”

“Shopping for what?”

“You know, makeup, accessories, that kind of stuff.”

Ingrid doesn’t say anything for a moment. He knows her well enough to guess that she is probably biting her lip or frowning, maybe both. “Do we really have to?”

“Hey, who’s the expert here? Just trust me on this.”

“Not ten minutes ago, you told me I was beautiful.” She says slyly, turning to glance at him for a second before refocusing on the road, “Why would I need all that stuff if I already am?”

Sylvain gives her the most dramatic sigh he can muster, just so he can prove a point. “Don’t twist my words Ingrid. You _are_ beautiful but Dimitri also sees you every day. The makeup and the accessories just serve as a way to get him to notice the best parts of you.”

“I already have makeup.”

“Well you never wear it!” He says, “You should. I mean, if you want to. And if you do it right, I’m sure Dimitri will notice. He’ll definitely say something about it.”

“I…I’m not opposed to it.” She says, fiddling with the reigns, “It’s just…I’m…not really sure how?”

Sylvain frowns, “Well, I can’t really help you there but I do know a few people who can.” 

Ingrid seems to consider this for a second before shaking her head a little. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that.”

“Okay, well…” He says, “We could also just do something simple. Like change the way you wear your hair. You could let your braid loose or something.”

He can practically hear her frown. “It’ll just get in the way.” 

“You could cut it off?”

She heaves a heavy sigh. “I wish I could but my father would kill me if I did.”

Sylvain blinks, “What? Why?”

“It’s not very ladylike apparently.”

This makes even less sense to Sylvain. Ingrid is a lot of things but she has never been particularly ladylike. He’s not sure how the length of her hair really factors into the fact that she used to enjoy rolling around in the dirt and end up with bugs in her hair.

Ladylike is not the word he would use to describe her. Strong, brave, terrifying, and stubborn maybe but not ladylike, short hair or not, that probably wouldn’t change a thing.

He snorts, “Okay,” he says, “Because that makes a lot of sense. Since when do you care so much about what your father thinks?”

“I’ve always cared about what my father thinks.” She tells him, “Just…somethings are easier to let go than others. I’ve pushed him far enough. I think I can compromise a little with my hair.”

Sylvain frowns and says nothing more about it. He doesn’t want to get into it when it comes to her father. He knows she doesn’t either. Instead, he looks out and sees the edge of town drawing in closer.

“Alright well. If we’re not going to cut your hair,” he says, “let’s see if we can find something nice for it. How do you feel about bows?”

He listens to her hum for a second before replying. “Can they be green?” 

* * *

Sylvain had forgotten how difficult shopping with Ingrid can be. She’s too practical and hates to splurge, which he understands given the circumstances but it does mean that their little trip to the market will end up bearing very little fruit at this rate.

“Ingrid,” he says eventually, exasperated by the fifth merchant that she has haggled down and yet still decided against, “Please, would you just - would you let me buy you something? It’s just a few hair clips.”

She shakes her head beside him. “I can’t allow you to do that for me Sylvain.”

He groans, rubbing his hand on his face. This is really his own fault when he thinks about it, why would he think that Ingrid would dare treat herself. “Think of it as an early birthday present.” He tries.

She chews on her lip. “We both know you’ll just end up getting me something on the day of as well.”

“What if I promise I don’t?” He says. Never mind the fact that…he’s actually already purchased her gift and has it wrapped and tucked in a drawer in his desk. He’ll just…have to leave it outside without a note on the day of, he guesses, or hope that she forgets- which is unlikely.

Ingrid contemplates this but he can tell that she’s leaning towards declining so he cuts in before she can.

“You can think of it as a loan.” He says. He thinks about making a joke about Dimitri again, something about how she can pay him back after she becomes queen but he’s already made that joke and he has a strong feeling that it would go over even more poorly this time. “Come on Ingrid, let me do this for you? Please?”

There’s a moment where she considers it before she finally relents, letting the tension in her shoulders drop and the features on her face soften. “Okay,” she says, still sounding unsure, “but only if you think it’s something I really should have. And it can’t be too expensive. I am paying you back after all.”

That’s really about as good as he can hope for with Ingrid. “Alright, let’s go find something great.” 

* * *

Thankfully, Ingrid does not decline his offer for treating her to lunch. She still hems and haws about it but he manages to convince her easily enough. It helps that he knows the skewer lady very well and can get a discount. It also helps that Ingrid really really likes skewers, something about meat on a stick really seems to get her to compromise.

They find a nice spot on the grass, far enough away from prying eyes and ears but close enough to hear the gentle bustle of the townspeople going about their days, Blueberry grazing nearby.

“So,” he says when they settle across from each other. His legs are crossed but she’s knelt carefully so that her skirt doesn’t ride up. It is the most ladylike Ingrid could possibly be. He hands her the bag of meat and Ingrid readily takes one out and quickly begins to chew. “What do you like about Dimitri anyway?”

Ingrid seems caught between blushing and choking at his question. In hindsight, he should have waited for her to swallow. He moves next to her so he can carefully thump her on the back as she coughs with one hand and offers her his water-skin with the other.

Ingrid takes it from him and takes a long drink before she settles. 

“You okay?” He asks, worried, sitting next to her. He really hadn’t meant to startle her quite like that. 

“Yeah,” she coughs, “you just caught me off guard.”

He winces, apologetic. “Yeah, sorry about that.” 

Ingrid waves his apology away with the skewer she still has in her hand. “It’s fine.” She says but then, as if remembering what he had asked, her face begins to flush again.

“So…” He prods, nudging her a little. “I asked you a question.”

“You did.” She says, frowning, “I don’t know if I want to answer it.”

Sylvain laughs at the way Ingrid looks away from him and back at the meat skewer, chomping heavily at it to avoid his question.

“Oh come on Ingrid,” he nudges her with his shoulder, “It must be something. I’ve never seen you like this before. It’s cute.”

She drops her head a bit but there’s nowhere she can hide her blush, not with her hair pulled back as usual and her ears and cheeks red. He’s never seen her like this. Embarrassed, sure, on occasion, insecure? Unfortunately yes, but never this bashful, never this shy.

This might be more than a little crush. 

“I get it.” He finally says when she refuses to reply. “Dimitri’s great. Really, I can totally see why you like him. He’s nice and kind with a big heart. He’s the Prince but he’s not an ass about it and, yeah, sometimes he can be a bit rigid but he means well. He cares a lot.”

Ingrid looks up, looks right at Sylvain, finally catching his eye. “It kind of sounds like you might have a thing for him too.” 

She’s not teasing him, she sounds genuine and sincere, supportive somehow.

Sylvain laughs, waving it away. “Once maybe.” He admits, “But it wasn’t really anything. Just something fleeting. How about you? Is this something fleeting?”

Ingrid sighs, she dumps the skewer stick onto a bag they’re using for garbage and leans back a little on her hands, looking up at the sky. “I don’t know.” She says, a little quiet. “I’ve…I’ve had some passing interests before but it’s like you said, they left as quickly as they came. Fleeting.”

“But Dimitri?”

“Not as fleeting.” She admits, the hand he can see curls against the blades between her fingers. She lifts her arm and holds her palm up and he watches her run her thumb alongside the grass before dropping the small pile into her lap where her other hand comes up to join. “It feels different.” She says as she begins to pull the grass apart strand by strand. “I don’t really know how to describe it. Everyone else would be like…noticing someone is good looking or attractive but this…this is his Highness. I’ve known him for so long and it’s…it feels different. Do you know what I mean?”

He knows his answer immediately but he still gives it a second, if only because Ingrid is asking him so earnestly. Sylvain wants to give the question the thought it deserves. He wants to give Ingrid his truest and most genuine answer.

The answer doesn’t change.

“Having feelings for someone?” He asks as she looks up at him.

Ingrid’s expression opens a bit, eyes widening just slightly, enough to tell him that he has somehow put more words into the nebulous thing she’s feeling.

“No.” He says before looking away from her and out towards the plaza. He watches a little boy tug at his mother’s skirt hem, pointing at something Sylvain cannot see. “I’m not…I’m not really sure that’s something that’ll happen for me if I’m being honest.”

He feels a gentle pressure on his elbow. He knows it is Ingrid’s hand. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” He says, turning back to meet Ingrid’s attentive expression. It inspires something in him, the way she’s looking at him, and he finds it in himself to be honest, to put words into his own nebulous feelings. “That I’m not really sure I can feel that way about someone. I never have and honestly, with the way things are going to be. I’m not sure I should.”

Ingrid frowns, her head tilts the barest amount as her eyebrows furrow. “Not sure you should?”

“I’m going to be married off.” He says and he knows she understands this, “And the person who I’m going to marry…she isn’t going to love me. So what’s the point, you know? Of love for me?”

Ingrid presses her lips to a thin line. “Is that how you feel about love?”

He struggles for the right words. “Not all love.” He ends up saying, “Just…for me you know? I just don’t think it’s really in the cards for me.”

The short silence they fall into is not uncomfortable. It probably would have been if it were anyone else but Ingrid understands this more than most people. It is why he feels so comfortable telling her. It is why he does not regret it.

“I didn’t think it was in the cards for me either.” She says to him. “Not since Glenn. His Highness is the first person since that I want to try with.”

Sylvain looks down at the hand that is still on his elbow, her fingers curling gently around the crook, and then back at Ingrid with a smile. “That’s step three.” He says.

Ingrid furrows her brow. “What?”

“You’re going to have to start calling him Dimitri,” He grins, nudging her again.

The pink stays on Ingrid’s cheek but she smiles too, eyes shining in amusement. “I uh…I’ll work on that.”

When they quiet again, when the moment between them stretches into the cool winter afternoon and all that’s left between them is their warm breaths mingling in the air, Ingrid is the one to break it.

“I hope you’re wrong.” She says to him.

Sylvain furrows his brow and stares at Ingrid. He’s pulled his knees up towards his chest and his elbows now rest against them, forearms relaxed out in front of him. “Wrong about what?

Ingrid shifts her whole body to face him, not minding the way the pile of grass slides towards her legs as she turns. “I hope you know love.” She says to him, “And I hope it works out. I do. I hope that for you.”

He can’t refute her when she looks at him like that. Sylvain knows the bitter complete truth of the life they live. He knows that it is unlikely to happen. That their stature says that people like them cannot and perhaps should not fall in love.

But at his core, deep inside of him, buried in a place he does not want to uncover, is a romantic. It's that part that is trying so hard for Ingrid because Ingrid could finally have it. She could have a love that will treat her right. There would be no forced marriages for her if she marries a king by choice. 

That will have to be good enough.


	3. This is Probably Where The Montage Would Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/06PYlfatA0zrksglAr60BU?si=wC1nI_YITI6r4zLV5liW6A)
> 
> [5](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Ba_qTPA4Ds) and [6](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oX7DFLRhNdU)

Sylvain wakes up to the sound of frantic knocking on his door. This is not unusual. The several times he’s overslept for class, Ingrid has come dragging him out by the ear, barely allowing him the courtesy of running a brush through his hair.

What _is_ unusual is that he’s pretty sure he’s not late for class because the sun is still barely streaking through the windows. It is way too early for him to be dragged out of bed.

Which tells him that on the other side of the door is likely to be a very angry woman he’s pissed off who is about five seconds away from waking up the entire floor with her yelling.

He doesn’t want that. He doesn't embarrass easily. Sylvain's been slapped, called ugly names, and publicly called out many times before, that’s not the problem. Most of the time, when that happens, he’ll admit that he actually deserves it. It’s really the aftermath that he hates. It’s Dimitri’s exasperated sigh and lecture. It’s Ingrid’s stony glare as she grumbles while she attempts to fix him. It’s Felix’s refusal to do anything more than tell him off for being an idiot. 

That part is exhausting. The people he pisses off usually want nothing to do with him afterwards, which is just as well because he doesn’t really want anything to do with them either. It’s the people who stay, who will always stay, that give him the headache. 

He's only really got two options here. Both of them bad. He can either:

> A: Open the door and get slapped and yelled at, thereby waking the whole floor.
> 
> Or
> 
> B: Keep the door closed and let the banging and yelling commence, thereby waking the whole floor.

The problem with option A is the status of his cheek after the affair. The problem with option B is that it tends to last longer.

Option A it is. 

It’s almost always better to just rip the band-aid off and this way, he might still get another hour of sleep if he's lucky.

Sylvain grumbles as he slips out of bed, shivering a bit as he runs a tired hand through his hair. He considers tossing a shirt over himself for a second but then figures it’s best not to keep the knocker waiting. The longer he puts it off, the angrier the person on the other side usually is.

With one last brave breath, Sylvain tugs his door open and finds himself face-to-face with-

“Ingrid?” He blinks, trying to rid the sleep from his eyes.

Ingrid hurries in, her shoulder brushing against his bare chest as she steps into the room and practically hides behind him. She’s already in uniform, which is unsurprising when he really thinks about it since she’s probably always up this early. Her hair is down and upbraided and in the dim light of the morning sun slowly creeping into his room from the window, Sylvain vaguely registers that the golden shine of it in just the right place makes her look a bit angelic as if lit by a halo above her.

It is way too early for this.

“Close the door!” Ingrid snaps in a harsh whisper, “I don’t want him to see me.”

Sylvain rubs the sleep out of his eyes as he shuts the door. It takes him a moment to realize who she’s talking about. Dimitri's room is next to his. “Uh…why not?”

Ingrid throws him an annoyed glare before pulling his wardrobe door open without permission. She tosses him a clean white uniform shirt he barely catches and he splutters as it hits him in the face.

This is also not unusual. He’s pretty sure she’s the one who organized his closet the first time she dragged him out of bed to make it to class on time.

Not that he’s actually that messy but Ingrid had insisted that his organizing wasn’t quite up to snuff. He thinks it’s actually because she had been flustered the first time she saw him without a shirt and needed something to do as he got ready.

She turns and he actually looks at her and realizes something -

“Hey! You put on the makeup!” He grins, tugging his shirt on and working at the buttons, “You look great!”

Ingrid bites her bottom lip and looks uncertain, insecure again. 

“Seriously.” He tells her. “You do.”

“It’s not too much?” She asks, fumbling with her fingers, “I tried to follow what the girls taught me to do but I couldn’t remember all the steps.”

A day after their little shopping trip, Sylvain had managed to convince Ingrid to agree to a little girls night with Annette, Dorothea, and Mercedes in the dorms to teach her how to do herself up a little bit and practice with the accessories they ended up buying alongside the palette Annette had gifted her.

He had then promptly stepped away from that because, while Sylvain was certainly a love expert, he knows when to call it.

But, in the days following that, Ingrid had not dressed or done anything any differently than normal and he hadn’t pushed her. He didn’t want her to do anything she wasn’t comfortable doing, he just wanted to encourage her along, give her enough tools that she could learn to use. 

He’s not a total jerk.

Plus, being someone you aren’t really isn’t all that attractive. He knows this from experience and Dimitri would see through it immediately anyway. Operation Dimitri required a more delicate touch.

Sylvain abandons the task of buttoning up his shirt the rest of the way to step up to Ingrid and places both his hands softly on her shoulders in an effort to calm her fidgeting. It works and he watches her relax a bit into his hands, watches the tensions in her shoulders drop even as she still bites her lip.

“You look great.” He says again, voice warm and soft, quiet in the early morning hours.

Ingrid nods, breathes, and then smiles at him. “Thanks Sylvain.” She says, “I needed to hear that.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

* * *

In the end, Ingrid decides to take it one step at a time. She braids her hair in his room while chatting with him about what she could do next, effectively killing any chance of him falling back asleep.

“Just try to spend more time with him.” He says, yawning. Ingrid’s pulled his desk chair across from where he sits on the edge of the bed facing her, one hand propping his chin up. “Like sit next to him in class and at breakfast. Make him notice you’re there.”

“He sees me every day.” She says as she ties off her hair in her usual style. He notes, with great interest, that she is using one of the green scrunchies he managed to convince into her shopping bag, a scrunchy which he had conveniently forgotten to tell her the price of -it hadn’t been expensive but he knows that Ingrid wouldn’t have bought it herself.

“I know.” He says, “Which is why after you spend a lot of time with him, you’ll pull back a bit. Just to get him to miss you.”

Her eyebrows knit together. “Is that really going to work?”

“You’d be surprised.” He tells her, stretching his arms behind him to lean back against them. “Distance makes the heart something something.” He says the last part with a lazy whirl of one of his hands to further his point.

Ingrid doesn’t look convinced. She’s lit fully now by the morning sun. The makeup looks great on her skin and he can tell she’s taken the time to really work at it. It’s subtle and well applied. He can feel a welling of something in him, he thinks, strangely, that it’s pride. 

She’s absolutely glowing.

Outside his bedroom, he can hear a door open and shut, Dimitri’s voice barely audible beyond the walls.

Ingrid freezes just for a second but recovers quickly once the footsteps fade away.

“Wow,” he snickers, “You’ve got it bad.”

She turns in her chair, glancing around the room, likely trying to find something to throw at him but the only thing near her is a hairbrush and she thankfully thinks better of it. He knows she never really means to hurt him. It’s playful- this thing they have between them. Easy. That’s why he likes it.

“It’s…It’s not great.” She sighs, turning back to him. “It’s weird. I’ve known him my entire life and suddenly it’s like I can’t talk to him. I feel ridiculous.”

“You need to relax Ingrid.” He tells her, “Just be yourself.”

“But I’m not myself when I’m with him! I’m this - this other person that I didn’t even know existed!”

“That other person is still you.” He tells her gently, “She’s just…flustered is all. Just don’t think about the way his eyes shine or the swoop of his beautiful luscious hair or the tasty broadness in his shoulders-”

She leans forward and shoves her palm into his face, and the rest of his sentence is lost to the way her hand muffles his voice. “You’re so mean.” She laughs.

He grins into her hand, resisting the urge to place his tongue flat against it. Ingrid would kill him if he tried. “Hey, gotta keep you humble,” he mumbles.

Regardless of intelligibility, she seems to understand him, judging by the eye roll she gives him when she pulls her hand back to grimace at her palm before brushing it on her uniform skirt. 

“So how do I get unflustered?” She asks.

Unfortunately, he’s got no experience on that front. Sylvain’s rarely ever flustered. He’s just never liked anyone enough to care that much. “Honestly? My advice is just to push aside your crush for a bit or at least try to and focus more on what he’s saying over who he is. You’ll have something to say and you’ll find ways to respond. Don’t overthink it.”

“Is that what you told Annette?” 

He gives her one of his trademark smirks. “That’s what I told Felix.”

Ingrid’s laugh fills in the space of his small room and carries her until she’s standing in front of him, a hand out. “Come on,” she says, “We’re going to end up late for breakfast.” 

He makes a big show of being sluggish but lets her drag him up. He often forgets how strong she is, considering how much smaller she is in comparison, and together they make their way to the dining hall.

He smiles when Ingrid only tenses a little bit as they walk by Dimitri’s room.

* * *

Dimitri does actually comment on Ingrid’s appearance. When they both join him and Dedue for breakfast, he glances up, greets them, and then furrows his brow a bit before saying, “You look nice today Ingrid.”

The tips of Ingrid’s ears turn pink and to protect her from flailing over her words, Sylvain quickly diffuses the situation with a joke. “Hey!” He says, mock offended as he plops down on the bench and runs a slow a hand through his bangs, throwing Dimitri his smoothest smile, “What about me?”

Ingrid’s nervousness dissipates then. He thinks she follows his advice. She says a simple “thank you” and isn’t even all that pink - although that could also be the foundation.

* * *

Sylvain thinks it’s working. Throughout the next few days, he spots Ingrid with Dimitri quite a bit. She walks with the prince when they move from the classroom to the training hall, he practically shoves her into the seat next to Dimitri in class before anyone else can take it and he even manages to convince her to invite the guy to a library study session.

There is just one caveat. Sylvain has to go too.

“I can’t be alone with him yet!” She explains when he balks.

The last, _absolute last_ , thing he wants to be is a third wheel but he doesn’t want to make the group bigger because then it becomes less of a date and more of just…studying.

“Ingrid,” he says in the empty Blue Lions classroom, groaning as he brings a hand to his face. He's leaning against one of the school desks as Ingrid pleads with him. Everyone else has already run off to lunch. If anyone finds it strange that Ingrid has stayed behind, they haven’t said anything. “ _That’s literally the entire point._ ”

“I know,” she says, “but I only just got around to talking to him like a normal person again and that’s only because there’s people around to help!”

By people, she means him mostly. He’s been expertly guiding conversation back to Ingrid or picking up a ball she’s dropped when she gets nervous again, although that’s been happening less and less with time. This was partly his other strategy, give her enough time to get comfortable around Dimitri again with the buffer of other people in their new dynamic so that she can graduate into the next step, one-on-one time.

“You’ve spent the entire week practicing for it!” He says, “Just do the same thing. Focus on his words and besides, the best part about a study date is that you can just look at the book when you get nervous again. It’ll be fine.”

She still looks unsure.

“What if I just stay for the beginning?” He offers, “Then, if it’s going well, I can make an excuse to leave. How about that?”

He sees the relief roll throughout her body at his words.

This girl, he swears, the things he does for her and no one else.

* * *

Just to make sure that he doesn’t accidentally break Ingrid’s heart, Sylvain finds Dimitri and tries to subtly get a read on him. He doesn’t actually think that there’s any harm in what they’re doing so far but if Ingrid is serious about the young prince then Sylvain doesn’t want her to hurt more than is necessary if it comes to that.

Not that he thinks it’ll come to that. Dimitri would be a fool to pass up Ingrid after all. They’ve got enough history between each other to work and they share a lot of interests. Sure, sometimes, they can clash a bit over ideologies but they’re both trying to do the same thing in the end. They’re both just trying to do good.

Honestly, they’re a perfect match. He wonders why he never saw it before.

Oh right. Glenn.

Still, Ingrid is ready to move on. That’s great. She said it herself. Dimitri is the first guy since Glenn that she’s had an interest in, that she actually wants to make work.

She deserves this.

Which means, as her friend, and for all that she does for him, the least he can do is look out for her.

The entire class is on the training grounds when he manages to slip next to Dimitri who is resting against a pillar, looking out to the rest of the class. Ingrid is training with Ashe, helping him with lance technique. She’s so into it, she’s not even looking their way. It’s good that she can be so focused, even when the object of her desire is in the room. He remembers when Annette used to fluster around Felix before they got together and the occasional glance she used to throw at grumpy swordsman when she thought no one was looking. Ingrid hasn’t looked Dimitri’s way once since she started tutoring Ashe. 

That takes a lot of restraint when you like someone so much. And he knows how she feels about Dimitri, knows because she tells him and no one else.

He really hopes Dimitri feels the same.

“Check out Ingrid,” Sylvain says, gesturing towards her as he unscrews his flask, “Ashe has no idea what’s coming for him. Glad it’s not me.”

Dimitri’s gaze follows until it settles on the pair. Ingrid has stepped back away from Ashe to observe his form, her arms are in an L shape in order to support the way she rests her chin on her fist as she watches closely. From here, Sylvain can see the way she mumbles something as if dictating notes to herself in the notebook she keeps in her head.

“You could really learn a thing or two from her Sylvain.” Dimitri says.

Sylvain makes a show of wrinkling his face even though Dimitri can't see it. “Yeah but she nags.” He says, “a lot.”

Dimitri does not sigh but Sylvain can tell he wants to. “She does that because she cares about you.” The Prince continues, “And she wants you to do well.”

“Yeah well,” Sylvain shrugs, “it’s annoying.”

“I think it’s pretty admirable.”

“Admirable huh?” Sylvain grins, “Is that all you think?”

“Pardon?”

“Ingrid,” He nods towards her, casual as he can manage, “is that all you think about her?”

Dimitri's head snaps over to Sylvain’s but he doesn’t look suspicious, only surprised. “Well,” He starts evenly, “she’s a good friend of mine and she’s a valuable member of the class. There’re very few people in the world I trust more than her.” 

_Same_ , Sylvain thinks but does not say. “Helps that she’s pretty,” he says instead.

Dimitri looks astounded and actually takes a step back.

Sylvain frowns deeply, “You don’t think so?”

“I-er- I mean,” The Prince stutters, “I’m not really sure what that has to do with anything Sylvain.”

His voice is a bit higher than normal. Sylvain capitalizes on it.

“It doesn’t.” Sylvain grins, “But you agree right? Ingrid’s pretty.”

Dimitri turns an interesting shade of red and sputters some more nonsense out.

“It’s okay to admit it you know,” Sylvain says sympathetically, clapping a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Ingrid’s pretty.”

Dimitri is saved from any more prodding by The Professor calling them over from their break. Ingrid’s finished with Ashe who is thanking her profusely for the help which finally affords her the opportunity to scan her environment and spot Dimitri who quickly avoids her gaze, obviously embarrassed by Sylvain’s line of questioning.

Which was really the entire point of the whole thing in the first place. Sylvain doesn’t need an answer from Dimitri. He already knows it, the point was for Dimitri to know it too.

* * *

Between the book stacks in the library before Dimitri’s joins them for their study session, Sylvain takes Ingrid aside to discuss their game plan.

“Are you sure you need me to be there?” Sylvain asks one final time. Dimitri will be here soon. That man is hardly ever late.

Ingrid chews on her nail. “I’d feel better if you stay.”

“Alright,” Sylvain says, “But if I think things are going well, I’m leaving okay? I can’t be there for every one of your dates.”

Ingrid drops her hand, looking noticeably relieved again. She’s getting better at hiding her nervousness around Dimitri and everyone else but Sylvain gets to see it all. She’s usually so put together, it’s almost refreshing to see that Ingrid is just as human as the rest of them.

“That should be fine.” Ingrid says, “I just…don’t like waiting around.”  
  
“That’s because you’re thinking too much again. It’s easier when he’s actually right in front of you and you can just do instead of think.”

She nods, “Yeah that’s it.”

Ingrid isn’t chewing on her nail anymore but she isn’t that much calmer. Her foot is tapping on the ground and she keeps shifting her weight around.

“Hey Ingrid,” he says, “What’s the endgame here?”

She stills and looks up at him curiously. “What?” 

“The endgame.” Sylvain repeats, “What do you want out of this? Like do you want him to be your date to the ball? Do you want to date him period…?”

Ingrid’s eyes dart straight to the ground and she shifts again. “I-” She starts but then stops.

He can feel himself soften even when she’s not looking at him. “It’s okay if you don’t know yet.”

“I _don’t_ know.” She admits to him, gazing back at him. She looks more tired than anything at this moment. “I’ve mostly just been focused on trying to be myself around him but I’m not sure. I haven’t really thought that far ahead yet.”

Sylvain hums and nods. He gets it, he really does. Dating Dimitri comes with a lot. He wishes it didn’t. He wishes that they could all get a chance to be normal for a change, to go out and see people without worrying about status or the future or marriage. 

"Then how about we just worry about getting through today first.” He says, “and then after that, we work on getting you a dancing partner. One step at a time yeah?”

Ingrid smiles, “Yeah,” she says softly, “let’s do that.”

* * *

The study date goes well. Sylvain stays for about twenty minutes but knows that he’s okay to leave within ten. It’s just a little too rude to run off so quickly after starting but it goes well. He arranges it so that Dimitri and Ingrid end up sitting next to each other by stacking a huge pile of books he doesn’t plan on reading in the seat next to him and he watches as Dimitri blushes as he pulls out Ingrid’s chair before settling next to her.

It’s good. The plan is working. Dimitri is noticing everything Ingrid is and Ingrid doesn't really have to do much more than be her normal brilliant self.

She doesn’t need him for this.

So Sylvain slips out with an easy grin, makes a joke about a date he forgot about, and leaves the two to their peace.

 _This will work_ , he thinks, _there’s no reason why it wouldn’t._


	4. Some Movies Have a Robust Supporting Cast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ~~The Constantly Changing~~[Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/06PYlfatA0zrksglAr60BU?si=wC1nI_YITI6r4zLV5liW6A)
> 
> [7](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6JCLY0Rlx6Q) and [8](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2X_L4xlk2Ys)

Dorothea is in the courtyard chatting with Petra when he jogs up to them. He doesn’t catch what they’re talking about because they hush the second they see him and Dorothea’s eyes actually narrow, which is…kind of rude actually. He hasn’t even done anything! Yet.

He throws them both a winning smile, “Hey ladies.”

Dorothea props her hand on her hip immediately and raises an eyebrow at his greeting but Petra is at least polite enough to smile.

“Sylvain,” Dorothea greets at the same time Petra says “Hello.”

He doesn’t let Dorothea’s iciness deter him. He’s actually pretty used to this. It’s kind of...just the way the two of them are. Plus he does technically have an ulterior motive, he’s sure that Dorothea can smell it on him. Dorothea is ridiculously sharp, he really can’t get a lot past her.

“So not that it’s not lovely seeing you Petra,” he says to the girl, “but do you mind if I borrow Dorothea for a second?”

Petra shoots Dorothea a glance and Sylvain feels as if he is witness to a very strong display of the solidarity between lady friends. He has no idea what is being communicated between the two of them with their eyes but he gets the feeling it has something to do with him or perhaps maybe even men in general. He’s not too sure. 

Then, after a look that Sylvain can only sort of read from Dorothea, Petra nods, “I was just leaving.” She says with a kind smile. “I will be seeing you.”

Dorothea gives her friend a little side hug before Petra walks off in a direction Sylvain pays very little attention to before setting her gaze back on Sylvain. “So what do you want?”

“I need a favor.” He says simply.

Dorothea looks him up and down. Her hand is on her hip again. “I’m not going to the ball with you Sylvain.” 

“What?” Sylvain blinks, “Why not?” But then he shakes his head quickly, “Wait, that’s not what I was here for. Wait- who are you going with then?”

The hand on Dorothea’s hip remains steady but she does soften a bit - barely, it’s hard to tell really, maybe he just hopes that she softens a bit. “Some of the girls and I are going together.” She says. “That’s what Petra and I were talking about.”

Sylvain frowns as he consolidates this new information. “Huh, I could have sworn that Ashe was going to ask her. Did I read that wrong?”

Dorothea sighs as she flips her hair behind her, “Probably not,” she says, “but I don’t know him as well so I don’t know.”

Note to self, subtly drop the hint to Ashe so that the guy doesn’t get politely rejected. Not that rejection is the worst thing in the world but Ashe is sweet and it can be really awkward. He’s not sure that boy can really recover from that right now. Second note to self, find an opportunity to get the two of them to share at least once dance together at the ball.

If he can make it work for Ingrid and Dimitri, he can definitely make it work for everyone else. 

Hmm, maybe he should start a business.

“Anyway,” Dorothea says, “Now that we’ve cleared that up. What do you want?”

“It’s for Ingrid,” he says hurriedly. He watches as Dorothea’s expression immediately shifts and any residual tension or annoyance slips away at the mention of their mutual friend. It’s almost funny how quickly Dorothea switches gears. “I need you to help me teach her how to dance.”

Dorothea quirks her head to the side, there’s a small smile on her lips. “Ingrid can’t dance?”

He barks a quick loud laugh. “The last time we danced together, I had to ice my feet for three days.”

The smile on Dorothea’s face is full-blown now, as if finding out that Ingrid has two left feet is incredibly endearing.

And well, it kind of is.

“Wouldn’t have guessed,” Dorothea’s muses, “she just seems to be pretty good with footwork.”

“Yeah, at fighting.” He grins, “but she’s by herself then. Ingrid’s never really been that great at following. Even when we were kids she was always the one to lead us around.”

Dorothea crosses her arms, an amused smile on her face at the idea of a baby Ingrid. He can’t blame her, he’s pretty sure he’s got the same smile on. “So why not just let her lead?” She asks.

Well Sylvain certainly wouldn’t care if she does but he gets the feeling that Dimitri isn’t used to that when it comes to the ballroom floor. 

“Not sure she’d really be good at that when it comes to this either.” He says instead, “So are you going to help or what?”

She raises an eyebrow at Sylvain, which is certainly not what he expected given that they’re talking about a favor for Ingrid. “This is about her thing for Dimitri right?” She asks, “What’s in it for you?” 

He wrinkles his face. There are several things he has to process. The first of which is that Dorothea knows about Dimitri.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He says simply, just in case.

Dorothea rolls her eyes, “Nice effort Sylvain, solid four-out-of-ten but-” she says raising her palm “-calm down. Ingrid told me.”

Ingrid told her? He just kind of assumed that he was the only one she talked to about this. He knows he’s probably not the only one who’s suspected but he definitely thought he was the only one she actually point-blank told. He finds himself feeling strangely disappointed by it.

“She told you?” He asks, frowning.

Dorothea squints at him, looking incredulous, “What do you think we talked about during girls' night?” 

Okay, yeah that makes sense, which also means that Annette and Mercedes know too. Huh. That also probably means that Felix likely knows, although it’s possible that Felix figured it out for himself. Huh again.

“Oh,” he says, feeling a little disarmed, but he shakes it off well enough, “well, still, doesn’t really change the fact that Ingrid needs to learn how to dance.”

“Answer my question first.”

“What?”

“What’s in it for you?”

Why does everyone think that he’s always got to get something out of it? Is it so bad to think that he wants to help his friends out? “How about a general lack of broken toes?” he grumbles.

“No I mean,” she waves absently in the air, “Why are _you_ the one asking me? And on that note, why don’t you just teach her?”

“Because Ingrid won’t ask for it,” he says, “And I’m good but I’m also usually leading, and besides, I’m no House Representative.”

Dorothea gives him an overly dramatic sigh, fanning her face with one hand, “Well…when you put it like that…” she says with a playful side glance.

“You’re the best!” He grins, “Thanks Dorothea!”

He has an urge to hug her but knows that probably won’t go over well.

"Oh by the way,” she says just as he’s about to run off and find Ingrid to share the good news, “Who’s your House Representative?”

He tilts his head, trying to recall the gossip he’s heard around the halls. “I think it’s Annette.” 

“Doesn’t…” Dorothea mirrors his tilt and he can visibly see the way she tries not to be mean, “doesn’t she trip over her own feet?"

Sylvain can’t help but let out an amused but affectionate laugh. “Sometimes,” he admits, “But she’s uh, got a lot of drive. Besides, she doesn’t really do that as much anymore now that she and Felix are together.”

There’s a mischievousness little smile set on Dorothea’s face. “Does Felix dance?”

Felix absolutely does not dance. 

Sylvain can’t help his own little smirk. “He does now.” 

* * *

"The point,” Sylvain explains after they break in the middle of their dance practice, “is to teach you how to dance.” 

It is way too early in the morning for this but it turns out that Dorothea is an absolute drill sergeant when it comes to dancing and the only way he managed to get Ingrid to even agree to this was if no one saw them.

She can be quite shy about very particular things.

The sun is up technically but it's not until just now that he starts to see the burst of the early morning rays from behind the Cathedral.

Dorothea is bundled up nearby, clearly not as used to the cold as the two Faerghus-born nobles, chewing her lip as she reviews her notes. He can’t believe she actually has notes. He really misjudged how seriously the performer was going to be with this.

Ingrid huffs, clearly frustrated right before she takes a sip from her waterskin. He can see, despite the chilliness of the morning air, the way her bangs stick to her forehead from the sweat. Ingrid is taking this very seriously too. “I haven’t even asked him yet.” She grumbles.

“And you won’t if you don’t practice.” He says, “Come on Ingrid, I know you. You’re going to make up an excuse about why you shouldn’tgo with him and one of those excuses is going to be ‘I don’t dance’, after this, you can’t say that anymore.”

Ingrid frowns, “I’m not even sure I _should_ ask him!”

“And that’s the other problem!” He exclaims, drawing Dorothea’s attention. He drops his voice back down to a normal volume. “Ingrid, he’s not going to say no.”

She looks at him sharply. “How could you _possibly_ know that?”

Sylvain blinks at her, who the hell would say no to her? “ _Are you serious?_ ”

She doesn’t get a chance to answer because Dorothea is calling them over again, ready to run the next set of steps with them. 

Ingrid exhales heavily again, steeling herself for the rest of the lesson. He knows that despite how frustrated she is, she won’t actually give up on this. It’s really not in her nature. If anyone is going to bow out of this whole practice thing, it’s going to be him, but only because it’s _so. dang. early_.

They settle back into position in front of each other. Dorothea calls sharply from the side, so sharply that Sylvain actually winces. “From the top!” She says, voicing biting in the winter morning air.

Ingrid’s face is determined as ever as she looks down at her feet. He can see her counting the steps already despite not having started yet. He offers her a hand that she takes and feels the way she gently settles her hand on his waist.

She only steps on his toes three times that day.

* * *

After their third day of practice, Dorothea lets them go early. Ingrid has gotten a lot better in a very short period of time which means she’s probably practicing on her own in the bedroom. Her work ethic sure is something else. He always knew she could do it and he’s glad that she’s picked it up so quickly because that means he gets to sleep in again. It also means that she has one less excuse not to ask His Princeliness to the ball. 

He watches her bound happily up the steps to the dining hall as he moves to stand next to Dorothea.

“What do you think?” He asks, “Good right? She should have it down by the end of the week I think.”

Dorothea glances up from her notepad and raises an eyebrow at him. “You’re an idiot.” She says dryly out of nowhere.

Well that was completely unfounded. What the hell did he do to draw her ire? “What?” He says, recoiling from her, “What did I do?!”

Dorothea shakes her head and closes her notepad, “Nothing, never mind.” She says before changing the subject, “You have a date to the ball yet?”

Sylvain stares. “What?”

“A date to the ball.” She says slowly as if she had simply been speaking too fast earlier. “Ask anyone yet?”

He’s about to say yes, of course he has, but now that he thinks about it, he’s been pretty distracted by this thing with Ingrid to bother. Huh, guess he’s going stag. Although he could probably find someone in the next week or so. It’s not hard, he just hadn’t really thought too much about it because - well, between dance practice, classwork, and trying to orchestrate and matchmake two of his oldest friends together, the thought of dealing with someone else seems exhausting.

He raises an eyebrow instead and gives Dorothea a flirtatious smile, “Are you asking?”

She smacks him lightly with her notebook on the chest, “You already know I’m unavailable.” She says. Then she looks pointedly up the dining hall steps. “She’s not though.”

Sylvain heaves a heavy sigh and runs a hand over his sweaty bangs, “Yeah, I know,” He says, “I’m working on it.”

Dorothea shakes her head and says nothing more although she does pat him twice on the shoulder before climbing the steps towards breakfast.

* * *

Sylvain is sitting on the edge of Ingrid’s bed watching as she twirls around without a partner. Dorothea is too busy practicing for her own dance in order to participate in the cup and, although they’ve already had morning practice today, Ingrid is determinedly reviewing the steps in the room as he watches her.

She’s a little stiff but the steps are right. They’ve been doing it for a few days now after all.

Eventually, after her second or third run-through, Ingrid drops her arms at her side, exhausted. “This is so much easier when Dorothea sings.” She sighs.

Sylvain rises and approaches her, “You’re too focused on the counts.”

“Well what else am I supposed to focus on?” She says, clearly frustrated, “There’s no music.” 

He smiles at her, trying for supportive. He knows she doesn’t mean to grumble. It’s just been a long day. They woke up early for dance practice, then had a full day of classes, and now they’re doing this. “Look just,” he says, reaching for her hand. Ingrid doesn’t pull away so he guides her hand to his shoulder while taking the other. His own settle gently on her waist. “Just focus on me.”

He starts the steps to the dance he now knows so well. He was never a bad dancer. It was one of the few lessons he’s had that he’d actually paid attention to but only because the tutor his father hired had been very attractive. 

Ingrid’s steps follow his. He's much closer than he normally is to her since her room is so small but she follows easily enough and doesn't seem to notice. She's too busy keeping her gaze fixed downwards at their shoes, eyebrows furrowed as she tries her best not to step on him, her hand gripping tightly onto his.

His voice is soft when he says her name.

Ingrid doesn’t look up, she’s still counting, mouthing the counts with her lips.

“Ingrid,” he tries again, “look up.”

She does. 

Her brows are still furrowed, she is still concentrating very hard, and he can tell that she’s still thinking much too hard about the steps even as they continue to move. He shifts tactics, if she won’t concentrate on him, Sylvain will redirect her thoughts with a different distraction.

“Why are you so hesitant in asking him?” He asks.

Ingrid blinks, he feels her foot stumble and press onto his shoes but he pretends not to notice. “I’m not.” 

He levels her a glance. The one that says, _you can’t hide anything from me_ , and the tension in her body escapes as she resigns herself to this truth. Her hand loosens in his and he can feel her relax a bit into her steps, sloppier sure, but technically still correct.

“Okay,” she breathes, “You’re right, I am.”

He hums a soft signal to continue and he watches her bite her lip for a second as he leads her around the room. She’s no longer thinking about the steps, she’s just letting him guide her.

This is the bit of dancing he likes. The relaxed bit when they can just move with each other. 

In his head, he plays an imaginary song, he wonders if Ingrid hears the same one.

“It’s just,” she starts, a little more quiet than usual. He watches curiously as a faint dusting of pink starts to creep in on her cheeks. “I’ve never been on a date before.”

This time, _he_ stumbles, jolting them out of count for a second before he returns them back into rhythm, “What?"

“I’ve never been on a date, a real one at least, so the whole idea makes me nervous.” She confesses. Her eyes steady onto his shoulder and she refuses to look up at him. 

It’s really not all that surprising now that he thinks about it. It’s not like she’s saying no one’s been interested in her, that would have been genuinely shocking since it would also be blatantly untrue. She’s saying that she hasn’t ever gone on one, it just took him a second to wrap his head around. He can’t count the number of dates he’s gone on himself. 

“I could take you on one.” He says, then quickly amends when she furrows her brow at him, “for practice.”

She examines his expression and he knows she’s searching for sincerity. She must find it because she nods, just barely, and says okay. 

And then, bathed in the fading evening light that mid-Ethereal moon day, hidden in Ingrid's bedroom as they carefully navigate their steps between her desk and bed, Sylvain spins her into his arms as he plans their first and only date. 


	5. The Practice Scene is Never Really Just Practice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/06PYlfatA0zrksglAr60BU?si=wC1nI_YITI6r4zLV5liW6A)
> 
> Still [Track 8](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GXiKPvdn5ww) but an acoustic version and also [Track 9](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nBmNcLBaPUE)

Sylvain checks himself in the mirror twice, adjusting his white shirt as he does so, tucking it in. He’s decided to go out of uniform, although that doesn’t mean that much when the uniforms at the Academy basically equate to a white shirt, black pants, and the jacket, so what that really means in practice is that he’s wearing a different coat with a nice vest underneath.

It’s a date, Ingrid’s first “real” date. She deserves a little bit of effort at least.

He’s run a comb through his hair, although it is still in his signature carefully curated messy style, and honestly, he doesn’t look all that different than usual.

Still, it’s the thought that counts right? Maybe Ingrid will even notice.

It’s going into the late afternoon now. He had ducked out of a training session a little early to gussy up a bit, winking at Ingrid as he passed her. She had rolled her eyes and ignored him, continuing her lance drill. She’s probably going to come straight from the grounds, not that he minds. It’s just practice after all, practice and a lesson.

The point is for her to be comfortable so that she doesn’t freak out too much when Dimitri knocks on her door.

They have to go off-campus. He had thought about conducting a practice ball rehearsal as the date but he doesn’t want Dimitri to catch wind of it and get the wrong idea so he’s strategically timed their escape from the Academy grounds with when the majority of their classmates will be meeting for dinner. Although, honestly, it’s not that weird for him and Ingrid to hang out. No one will really think much about it. The problem really has to do with the flowers he’s got on his desk that he’s about to give her.

Dedue helped picked them out but Dedue is also tight-lipped and doesn’t ask any questions. As far as the man is concerned, Sylvain is simply giving flowers to another one of his dates. He doesn’t have to know that it’s Ingrid.

The dormitory hallway is empty when Sylvain steps into it. It’s also quiet, which tells him that no one’s around. He’s got a pretty little arrangement in his hand of chrysanthemums and roses and other brightly colored flowers he doesn’t know the name of and a wide smile that he hopes matches the lightness of the bouquet he carries.

He knocks on her door, contemplating whether or not he wants to put the flowers behind his back but before he can make a decision the door swings open in front of him.

Ingrid has her hair down, although he can see on her wrist where one of the green scrunchies they bought together hangs. She blinks at the flowers than up at his face and then back down at the flowers again.

His wide playful grin doesn’t waver. “What,” he says, “never had a boy bring you flowers before?”

Ingrid rolls her eyes and opens the door wider, stepping aside so that he can cross the threshold, “You know I have, every year in fact, usually for my birthday, also usually from you.”

“You know me,” Sylvain closes the door behind him as he steps fully into the room, “I aim to be predictable.”

She throws him a disbelieving look but doesn’t bother to refute. Instead, she moves to her mirror and smooths down her shirt, frowning at herself as she does so.

She is in her uniform, which doesn’t surprise him but it does look like a fresh set and he can smell the soap in the air. She must have slipped in for a bath after training.

“Do you think I should keep my hair down for a date?” She asks, examining herself as she runs a hand through her golden locks.

“For the ball?” He says, “That might be a good idea. We’re going to be wearing our uniforms so it might be nice to do something different.”

She blinks at herself and then glances towards him. “Thanks,” she says, “You changed out of your uniform.”

“I did indeed.” He places the flowers down on her desk. They should be fine for a few hours but she’ll need to get a vase for them to last any longer than that.

“Should I?”

He shakes his head, “Nah,” he says, “But you might want to put your hair up. Not that you don’t look lovely, you do, I actually really like it down like that but you’ll probably end up annoyed at it for what I’ve planned.”

She narrows her eyes at him, “What do you have planned?”

He raises both of his hands up and out towards her, “Hey, nothing fancy, don’t worry.” He says, “But trust me won’t you?”

She sighs and begins to braid, her hands moving dexterously as she weaves her hair into something familiar. It’s a shame really. Maybe he should have just told her to put it in a ponytail. 

Honestly, Dimitri won’t know what hit him come ball night.

It doesn’t take her long to braid, it is something she does every day after all, “Should I put on makeup? I washed all mine off earlier.” 

He shakes his head, “Nah, it’s fine.” He says, _it’s just me after all_ , “You look nice without it anyway. But night of? Yes. Don’t girls like, get together to get ready? You might want to consider doing that.”

Ingrid bites her lip, “Annette and Mercedes invited me along, I said I’d get back to them.”

“Get back to them.” He tells her, “Besides, it’ll help with your nerves.”

She nods as she ties her braid off, that green scrunchy in place. He knows it's her favorite, she uses it all the time. “Alright, I’m ready.” She says.

He offers her his arm which she doesn’t hesitate to take but not until after she rolls her eyes at him. 

“Oh, Sylvain,” she says as her door shuts behind them and they wander out into the hall beside each other, “Thanks for the flowers.”

* * *

Blueberry is saddled and ready when they reach the stables, wearing a very simple garland he had Mercedes’ weave that Sylvain’s surprised hasn’t actually been knocked off. Ingrid almost laughs when she sees her. 

“Really?” She says, glancing at him.

Their arms are no longer linked, he’d dropped it the second they stepped into the courtyard, which really destroys the whole practice date atmosphere he was going for but again, he doesn’t want word getting around to Dimitri that he’s taking Ingrid out. Sylvain is in no way trying to steal a girl right from under his friend’s nose, especially when that girl is Ingrid.

He wonders if maybe he needs to have another talk with the Prince to subtly drop the hint that Sylvain’s not interested so that Dimitri doesn’t accidentally get hung up over something.

“Hey,” he says, “Dating 101, try to make it as comfortable and familiar as possible for the other party unless told otherwise. I wasn’t going to do something I knew you would hate.”

Ingrid smiles but doesn’t answer, favoring greeting Blueberry with a pat instead.

He knew this was a good idea. Ingrid loves Blueberry.

“A garland though? Really?” She asks, laughing as she touches one of the flower petals.

“Jealous?” Sylvain nudges, petting Blueberry himself, “Should I have made you one? Or do you want to just take hers?”

“Hmm, looks better on her I think.”

“I beg to differ.” 

It slips out very quickly, very easily. Sylvain thinks nothing of it, not until Ingrid wrinkles her face at him.

“Next tip,” he says to cover, although he’s not entirely sure what he’s covering for, he’s never really had to with Ingrid. “Compliment your date. A lot.”

Ingrid’s expression is a combination of lightly exasperated and amused. He can’t help the way he smiles at the sight. “So, where are we going?” She asks, following him as he moves to do a last-minute double-check on the saddle.

“We,” he says, “are going for a ride.” 

She gives him a side-eyed look, “This feels familiar.”

“It’s supposed to.” He explains as he hoists himself up first before he offers her a hand, “I’m going to show you the difference between an errand and a date.”

Ingrid’s eyes his hand for a moment before taking it, settling comfortably in front of him. “Lead the way.”

* * *

It’s not until they’re a little bit away from the Monastery that he considers the date to start properly. Sure he’s gifted her flowers and sure he’s complimented her beauty but he can’t do too much of anything when someone else can see.

“So,” he says, by her ear. “Anywhere you want to go?”

“I thought you had the whole thing planned.” She says, sounding amused.

“A little bit of flexibility and spontaneity isn’t a bad thing.” He says, “And it’s not really a good date if your date doesn’t like where you’re going. You’ve got to have a few possibilities in place, you know. I planned a horseback ride for a girl that likes horses. I also brought food.” He says, patting at one of the saddlebags, “And a blanket, for the girl that likes food.”

“Everyone likes food Sylvain.” She says dryly.

“Not the way you do.” He teases.

He feels her nudge him a little with her elbow, a playful little touch that tells him that she’s not actually offended. 

“But,” he says, “If you don’t have a preference, I do have a place in mind. It’s just always nice to ask.”

“Is this what you’re like on all your dates?” She says, throwing a suspicions look over her shoulder, “It’s all so…strategic.”

“Why do you think I play so much chess?” He grins.

That earns him a loud laugh as Ingrid shakes her head.

“You know,” he says, leaning forward very close to her ear. He drops his voice down to a warm milky whisper; it’s a tone he’s never dared to take with Ingrid before. “If your date is really smooth, they’ll do this.”

He removes both his arms from her waist to move up to lightly grip at her elbows before slowly letting them slide to her forearms and then down to her hands, where she’s holding the reigns loosely. Ingrid’s body stills and he smirks as he folds his hands over hers, lightly at first before he applies a little bit of pressure when she doesn’t pull away.

Her hands are small in his. He’s never noticed that before. They’ve held hands before, usually when she’s pulling him along, but they’ve never let them stay. Her knuckles are rough, he can feel it in his palms and he runs his thumb gently against hers. Her hands loosen even more from the reigns, loosen enough for him to hook his thumb and pinky into her palms, where her callouses brush against his own.

“And if they’re really brave or if it goes really well,” he says, still in that same tone, still by her ear, spurned on by the magnetism of the moment, “They’ll do this.”

He drops his chin onto her shoulder and presses his chest full onto her back so that he’s basically holding her.

Ingrid doesn’t shy away. He’s impressed by it really. He would have thought she would shake him off immediately. Instead, she keeps her gaze steady on the road, although her voice wavers a bit when she finally responds, also more quiet than usual. “Is this why you like horses? So you can do this?”

He laughs as he lifts his chin, and the grip on her hands loosens, although he does keep them where they are. Ingrid doesn’t seem to mind. “It only works if they aren’t afraid of horses.”

Her voice returns to normal. “That sounds like there’s a story.”

“Let's just say that that wasn’t a particularity successful one. It went absolutely nowhere.” 

“None of your dates really go anywhere.” She says wryly. 

She’s not entirely wrong. She’s also not entirely right. Plenty of his dates go somewhere but nothing ever sticks. That was more or less the point after all.

“Hey ouch,” he says, pulling one hand back to rest dramatically on his heart, and although she can’t see it, he knows she knows what he’s doing. “Some of them do, but just…very briefly sometimes - oh and, by the way, don’t talk about your exes on your dates. It’s bad form.” 

“Noted but unnecessary.” She says as he returns his hand back to encircle Ingrid against his chest. “I don’t have any exes.”

Sylvain does not mention Glenn, it doesn’t seem appropriate.

He’s about to respond when she laughs, shrugging him off a little. “Sylvain,” she says, “You’re going to have to let go of me, it’s impossible to steer like this.”

He shakes his head, “The point isn’t to steer, and besides, we’re going slowly. The point is to make contact. As much as possible.”

“Oh is _that_ what you’re doing?” Her tone is playfully accusatory. 

“It doesn’t have to be anything you’re not comfortable with.” He explains, “But just a touch, you know, get close, so the other person can’t forget that you’re there. Linger if you can. It’ll help them think about you, even when they aren’t explicitly thinking about you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

* * *

They ride for a little bit and Sylvain directs them to a nice open hill where they can see the way the sun begins to dip beyond the horizon, bursting with beautiful light in a backdrop against the Monastery. It doesn’t look all that different from an illustration of a fairy tale castle from all those books that Ingrid likes to read.

They’ll definitely end up night-riding at this point but he’s not worried. They’re not too far off-trail and he’s with Ingrid after all. 

He jumps off before Ingrid does, then offers his hand. “Always offer your hand.” He says.

“Right,” she smirks from above him, taking it, “contact.”

“Correct.” He says as she jumps down, “And that way, if you pull a little bit as they get on the ground-”

Ingrid stumbles into him, her free hand instinctively reaching out to brace against his chest as he steadies her. Suddenly, she is within his space again and the hand not holding hers comes up to rest against her waist.

“-You can make a big show of catching them and if they smile at you, you know you’ve closed even more distance.” He finishes.

Ingrid glances wide-eyed at him, looking almost impressed as she steps back. He lets her and his hand slips out of hers to hang at his side. 

“Dimitri’s a gentleman though,” Sylvain says when Ingrid’s expression begins to shift into something more familiar. It’s that slightly exasperated disbelief again. “So he won’t pull you. He’ll still offer you a hand though, so what you can do instead is stumble into him a bit as you land. He’ll catch you because you’re not actually tripping and you can kind of course-correct if he doesn’t. But he will. He’s quick.”

“You really have an answer to everything don’t you?”

He winks at her.

* * *

So far, he’s taught Ingrid three main things: Space, Contact and -

“Smile?” She says, dryly with a hint of disbelief and judgement as she dusts the bread crumbs off of her from the sandwich he packed. The sky is rapidly darkening above them and the stars have begun to sprinkle in. The moon is full and glowing brighter and brighter as the fading orange light dips more and more out of reach. “ _Seriously?_ ”

“Okay, not like that-” He says, exasperated. He’s halfway leaning against his side, propped up on one arm, legs stretched out and off the blanket they were sitting on for their little picnic date, angled in such a way that he’s still technically beside her but still able to see her face on. Ingrid’s legs are tucked behind her because of her skirt but she’s leaning on one arm towards him too, their hands only about an inch or two apart. 

This is a little closer and more intimate than normal but it’s not _too_ different. He has never been shy about space with her and she has long since grown used to the touchy way he shows affection to his friends.

“It’s to show the other person you’re having a good time. I mean, you can also just tell them, which is what I do, but not a lot of people do that because they’re shy or nervous or whatever. ” He continues, “Besides, your smile is one of your best assets. The rest of the date is really just talking, getting to know each other and spending time together.”

“How is that any different than what we normally do?”

“Context.” He says, “You both know why you’re there so even if it’s just talking, it’s talking with a very specific intention.” 

“Huh.” She says. He watches her consider it, watches the way it fits into her mind, watches it make sense to her, all in the subtle shifts in her face.

“Yeah, so dating isn’t really that hard Ingrid.” He says, “So just…ask Dimitri. You’ll be fine. It’ll be you and Dimitri as always but you’ll feel the difference even when everything is basically the same.”

“Huh.” She says again.

He lets her stew on that for a second, falling into a comfortable silence. The hand that’s not holding the rest of his body up reaches for the almonds he’s brought in a small container of assorted nuts but he doesn’t eat them so much as he fidgets with them in his hand, passing them between his fingers with his thumb.

“Sylvain?” She says and he looks up. There’s a small but very warm smile on her face. “I’m having a good time.”

Something catches in his chest and a very warm, very pleased smile of his own stretches out on his lips on its own accord. “Yeah,” he half whispers, “Just like that.”

* * *

“Grand gestures huh?” Ingrid laughs as he sprawls out on his back, blinking up at the starry sky. There is no trace of the sun now. It is only the two of them and Blueberry in the middle of nowhere, accompanied by the sound of crickets singing endlessly into the night.

He waves one hand absently in the air, “Yeah, I mean, I like them, who doesn’t like them?” 

Ingrid stares down at him from where she’s still sitting, her legs now stretched out in front of her, his coat draped over them to keep her warm, her hands are folded in her lap. “It just seems like a lot of attention.” 

“I mean it doesn’t have to be.” He reaches both of his hands back to cradle his neck. “A grand gesture can still be private. It just has to be bold. Liven’ it up a little.”

“I prefer something more low-key.” She admits, picking at the blanket, “Just spending time together is enough for me.”

“Okay, but what if your partner likes grand gestures?” He says, “Like do you go out of your way to put one on?”

“I’d probably just go to you. It’s worked well so far - surprisingly.”

He grins up at her, even when he’s not entirely sure she can see him lit only by the moon and the stars. “I _am_ pretty good.” He says while she groans, “Alright, well, if Dimitri turns out to be a grand gesture wanting kind of guy, I will be your man.”

“Okay,” She says, tone playful, “but he’s the _crown prince_ , what are you going to do to upstage that?”

Sylvain furrows his brow, thinking. “I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

Ingrid’s laugh fills in the space between them. “Well don’t hurt yourself,” she teases, “But I think you’re safe anyway. Dimitri can be pretty low-key too when it comes down to it. He doesn’t even like us addressing him by title.”

“And yet we still do it.” He says slyly.

He feels her poke his shoulder. _“I’m working on it.”_

* * *

Sylvain doesn’t lead her by arm back to her room but tells Ingrid quite seriously to expect it from Dimitri. The guy is an old school gentleman, there is no universe in which Dimitri doesn’t walk someone back to their room. It’s just that it’s late now and everyone is probably hanging around the dorms, almost ready to retire for the night.

They stop in front of her door and she shrugs off the coat that he’d forgotten to take back from her to hand back to him. He takes it and tucks it under his arm but then he steps forward, dropping his voice down to a whisper because he can hear Claude laughing from down the hall. 

“If Dimitri is bold enough,” He says, “This is the part where he’ll kiss you.”

Ingrid stumbles backwards but meets her door. Her face is rapidly turning the same shade as his hair and her eyes incredibly wide.

“Calm down,” he laughs, taking a step back, hands out, “I’m not going to. I’m just saying that this is -”

“It’s not that!” She snaps, smacking his arm and interrupting, her voice an octave higher than normal.

He can feel the way his face twists with confusion.

“It’s-” She glances past Marianne’s room and up the stairs and then frowns, throwing her door open and quickly shoving Sylvain in before slamming it shut behind him, all in a very fast and fluid motion.

“Woah, Ingrid, honestly this is kind of forward, not really sure if Dimitri will go for it but-”

She smacks him on the chest again, this time harder, “Oh will you shut up for a second, it’s not that.”

“Okay, okay,” he laughs as she buries her face in her hands. This is…very sudden and different. “Ingrid? What’s wrong?”

She turns away from him, facing the door again and mumbles something.

“Uh,” he says, stepping up to her and tapping her on the shoulder. “Ingrid, you’re going to have to say that again in a way that I can understand.”

Ingrid inhales, dropping her hands to the side. He watches her look up at the ceiling before exhaling and turning to him. Her face is still red and she looks like she would rather die than say whatever it is she said again. 

“I’ve never been kissed.”

Sylvain’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. He feels the way his jaw goes slack. The longer he stares at her, the redder she gets, which he hadn’t thought was actually possible until now. “What-?” He says, flabbergasted, _“Never?”_

Ingrid brushes past him, a little roughly, and sags onto the edge of her bed. “Why are you so surprised?” She asks, refusing to look at him. She’s staring down at her shoes. “I’ve never gone on a date before, at what point would I have been kissed?”

Sylvain can think of many a time he has stolen kisses outside of dates. Hell, his first kiss was when he was six and he was definitely not on a date. “Not even…” he pauses, “Glenn?”

Ingrid sighs, leaning back against her arms. “I was thirteen.”

And Glenn was a bit older. Fair.

Sylvain smiles at her, reassuringly, “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about Ingrid.” 

“It’s not that I’m embarrassed about it…”

He crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow.

“Okay!” She says throwing her hands up in the air, “I’m a little embarrassed about it.”

He thinks better than to tease her further. It clearly bothers her. 

“It’s just-” she huffs, frustrated and still pink, “The thought of kissing Dimitri just threw me in for a loop.”

“You’ve had a crush on Dimitri for _how long_ and you’ve never considered kissing him?”

“Of course I considered kissing him!” She says, and then immediately buries her face again, “It’s just- I guess I didn’t expect you to just _say it.”_

“Ingrid,” he says, sitting next to her, he drops his coat on the bed before reaching up to pry her hands away from her face, one finger at a time, and watches her shoulders relax a little more with each one. “It’s okay to want to kiss Dimitri. It’s also okay for you to have never been kissed. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“What if I’m bad?” She mumbles, and then she does something he never thought he’d ever see her do. She tries to shrink away, tries to make herself look small.

Really, for all that Ingrid is, she is still just like everyone else in the end. 

His first thought is, _there’s no way you would be,_ but then he thinks about all the sloppy kisses he’s had, but honestly, even then, he was just happy to be kissed. He’s sure Dimitri will feel the same. Still, Sylvain knows that Ingrid won’t take that answer very well. “Then you practice.” He says instead.

Ingrid’s gaze snaps to his and he’s met with a very sharp look.

“I mean with Dimitri.” he clarifies, pulling his hands back into his lap. “Everyone’s first kiss is…their first kiss.” He says, “It’s fine. That’s how you start. That’s why there’s second kisses and third kisses and-”

He feels her push his face away with a laugh and he’s glad to have lightened the mood a little. 

But then Ingrid sighs again. “What do you even do with your hands?” 

“Trust me Ingrid.” He says, “If you’re kissing Dimitri, he’s _really_ not going to care about where your hands are. He’ll be too focused on your lips.”

She doesn’t look convinced, which is just like Ingrid. She always needs better answers to everything, even when he’s already given her a satisfying enough one. 

“Look just-” he says, shifting so that his torso faces her, she shifts too. “-if you don’t know where to put your hands, put them on his waist or his shoulders. If you’re feeling brave, you can move to his neck.”

Her hands alight on his shoulders, very light, as if she’s very nervous. “Like this?” 

Sylvain freezes. It’s something about how she’s barely touching him that makes this whole thing weird. Ingrid is not a light touch. She is a lot of things, but she is rarely this delicate.

“Hold onto me more firmly.” He says, voice a little strained.

She does and suddenly the room feels normal again. He feels grounded again. 

“Yeah that’s better.” He murmurs.

Ingrid smiles at him and their gazes lock. She looks strangely proud and the sight is so adorable that it is entirely what fuels what happens next.

He leans forward, stealing her first kiss. It’s quick, it’s a peck. He barely grazes her. He is rarely this light either and he pulls back before she even has a chance to shut her eyes, before she even has a chance to blink.

And then he thinks:

_Oh shit_

And immediately following that:

_She’s going to kill me._

But she doesn’t, instead she only tilts her head, arms still braced on his shoulders, looking curious.

“Practice.” He says very very quickly. “That was for practice. So you’re not nervous.”

He is so afraid of what will come next that he doesn’t even breathe.

“I don’t think I got it.” She says quietly, “Can we do it again?”

Sylvain doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t stop to consider anything else. He doesn’t even think. Doesn’t allow himself the time to, doesn’t allow Ingrid the time to, he just leans forward again, eyes closed, and this time, when he kisses her, it is not a light brush of the lips. It is no intended peck. His lips press hard onto hers and he breathes her in and feels her do the same. The angle is bad, Ingrid is, in fact, a little awkward and nervous. Her nose bumps into his but he is the furthest from caring. He is kissing Ingrid. Her fingers curl hard into his shoulders and he is kissing her.

His hands find their way to her waist. He doesn’t let them wander anywhere else because this is Ingrid after all, and it is her first - well, second kiss. And Dimitri definitely doesn’t have wandering hands.

_This is practice._

She shifts a bit and their lips come apart but before he can pull back, before this session ends, Ingrid’s hands go around his neck to pull him back to her and he practically falls into her, falls into the way she tastes, like the walnuts they cracked on their picnic blanket, falls into the way she smells, faintly of soap and grass.

He’s not sure how it happens but he feels her push into him, climb onto him, and suddenly she is in his lap, practically straddling him and he is running the barest tip of his tongue slowly against her bottom lip, inching upward onto the seam and encouraging hers open.

It does.

Her hands are in his hair, running upwards from his neck onto his scalp. He can feel every one of her fingernails scratch against him and he thinks, _yes, hands should absolutely go here_ , as his stay firmly on her waist. He fights every urge in his body to move them downwards, move them onto where her thighs lightly squeeze his.

He concentrates instead on their mouths and discovers that Ingrid’s tongue is a fucking revelation.

He could die here. He could happily die here and now.

Then, suddenly, without warning, Ingrid flies off of him and his eyes shoot open in surprise, watching as she barely manages to catch herself before nearly slamming onto the floor, looking wide-eyed and frantic between Sylvain and the door.

He frowns immediately at the loss of contact and prepares for whatever kind of freakout she’s about to have when he hears the knock that Ingrid must have heard earlier.

“Hey Ingrid?” 

It’s Ashe.

_Why is it Ashe?_

Ingrid rights herself and adjusts her shirt. She looks fine and put together. He catches himself in the mirror. He certainly doesn’t. His hair is insane but his hair is always insane so he can kind of get away with it. Still, he pats it down back to something semi-normal. 

“Do you have the notes from today?” He hears the younger boy ask from beyond the door. “I seem to have misplaced mine.”

“Yeah,” Ingrid says, sounding startlingly normal. She goes to her desk where the flowers he gave her still sit and begins to rifle through it, “One moment!”

Sylvain takes the opportunity to readjust himself. He stands, glad for the looseness of his slacks. He’s ninety-five percent sure Ingrid didn’t notice anything or she would have probably booted off of him earlier.

Ingrid finds her notes and opens the door. Ashe doesn’t look at all surprised to see them together and honestly, it makes sense because it’s not unusual to find him in Ingrid’s room. They’re just usually not making out behind closed doors. 

Ashe greets him and then thanks her. The exchange lasts less than a minute and then he’s gone.

Then it’s just the two of them again.

There’s a moment of silence. Ingrid looks him up and down from across the room. She’s still a little flushed but she seems to be relatively calm, which is a good sign. It means she’s not going to kill him or panic suddenly. Probably.

“So…” he tries, “Was that enough practice? Want to do it again?”

Ingrid rolls her eyes and actually laughs. Somehow, just like that, the tension breaks.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks, not wanting to step closer to her for fear of setting her off.

Ingrid considers this for a second before shrugging with a sigh. “What’s there to talk about? Other than the fact that I don't want it to be weird.”

Sylvain shrugs too and accepts it. "Then it won't be weird." He says simply, "What’s a kiss between friends anyway?"

* * *

That night, Sylvain dreams of Ingrid’s lips on his, and the next morning when he wakes, he thinks nothing of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I am so sorry he's this dense_ but it's a romcom so...


	6. It's A Green-Eyed Epiphany

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/06PYlfatA0zrksglAr60BU?si=wC1nI_YITI6r4zLV5liW6A)
> 
> [10](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ih8e_cn10Hs)

This is how it hits him:

Sylvain happens upon them together in the library. He’s walking while thumbing through a book when he hears the low hum of quiet familiar chatter, stopping him dead in his tracks. Following the source of the noise, he glances up mid-page turn and sees them hidden between book stacks where a low light from a source he can’t see but thinks might be a window bathes them both in the brilliant golden glow of a lazy free afternoon, their shadows merging as they stretch out towards him on wooden floorboards looking larger than life.

He thinks, in that moment, that they really do look good together. That somehow Dimitri and Ingrid just fit. He’s thought so for a while now, ever since Ingrid’s little crush cropped up, and he knows how well they work. They’ve been friends forever. They’ve carved out a history between each other that no one else can make up for. They know each other's struggle but beyond that, they know each other's characters. Neither would take advantage of the other.

Ingrid has angled herself in such a way that she can still look up at Dimitri while allowing her shoulder to be close to his, almost touching, and Sylvain thinks with a smirk, _space_. When he follows the line of her arm all the way down to her hand, he notices the way it holds loosely onto Dimitri’s forearm and he thinks, with a swelling of pride, _contact_.

He’d never thought she’d really listen to him. For all the advice he’s given her, all his encouragement and meddling, Ingrid always moves at her own steady pace. When he had told her to put on makeup, she didn’t for several days. When he encouraged her to do something with her hair, she did, but only as much as swapping out her hair ties and, as far as he knew, she still hadn’t asked Dimitri to the ball despite there being many opportunities to.

Maybe that’s what she’s doing now, building up to the question.

And then Dimitri says something, something that makes Ingrid laugh. She brings her hand up to her mouth to cover the way she giggles and Sylvain finds himself smiling too. She looks so bright and happy and very much like she’s enjoying herself with the way her eyes crinkle at whatever joke or comment Dimitri made.

Dimitri is smiling too, not the princely one that he’s learned to turn on a dime, but the slow amused unarmed one that he’s been throwing out less and less over the years.

They are so good together.

Ingrid notices him then and lifts her hand off of Dimitri in a small wave. Sylvain gives her one back as Dimitri turns and does the same but then Ingrid turns away, turns back to Dimitri, and smiles, her hand landing back on Dimitri’s elbow.

_Smile-_

And then the world tilts off its axis. The warm genuine smile that he had thrown them both becomes strained somehow with the way that Dimitri’s attention returns to Ingrid and the room spins a single lightning-fast rotation, warping into itself so fast and so quick before reversing that Sylvain doesn’t even have time to register the dizziness. Doesn’t have time to be thrown.

Because the world realigns itself back upright. The bookshelves are still straight, the aisles spaced the exact right way, the sun doesn’t move any faster, time does not tick any slower, and Ingrid and Dimitri are flirting but it’s all so deeply _wrong_.

Everything looks the same but nothing feels the same.

His breath comes out in a shallow puff that sounds very loud to his own ears in the quiet of the library over the murmuring of the pair several feet away from him. That smile on his face stays plastered there, stuck frozen and stiff. The rest of his body feels rigid, feels like stone, a heavyweight against creaky wood.

 _No_.

He thinks.

_Please no._

* * *

It is sheer muscle memory that takes him back to his bedroom. He thinks he passes a few people, thinks he even greets him but he can’t remember or focus. The book he had been skimming through is heavy in his hands and he’s not even sure if he checked it out properly so much as simply stalked out of the library with it.

He can’t recall the title.

His door opens and then shuts behind him. For a moment he stands directly in front of the door, gazing upon the room he returns to every night. His eyes fall onto his bed before his head swivels slowly to the desk and he stands for a second staring.

Everything looks the same but nothing feels the same.

Slowly he moves towards his desk, sliding the book out of where he had pressed it against his hip to place gently on his desk. He straightens it so it aligns with the edge and pushes it several inches back before breathing in a few deep slow breaths as his palms press down on the surface of the wood.

He had been breathing really quickly before he had entered the room but now everything feels slow and sluggish. Sylvain feels tired, feels like something is weighing him down to the ground. His knees feel heavier than his calves and he pulls back from the desk to dig his fingernails on one hand onto the back of his chair, clawing into it, paying very little attention to the whites in his knuckles as he leans on it for support.

His other hand goes to his face and he rubs his palm upwards from his chin straight through his bangs, eyes closing and inhaling as he does so. He holds his breath for a single count and then drops the hand back down to his side, smacking against his hip and bouncing as he exhales and opens his eyes.

His room still looks the same. 

With a groan, Sylvain straightens up, standing tall. He runs both his hands from the bottom of the opening of his uniform jacket up slowly, feeling all the threads as he trails upwards, bumping against the buttons on one side and the buttonholes on the other until he gets to the collar where his hands clench into fists, bunching the fabric so deeply and so hard as he absentmindedly presses his knuckles together and pushes with equal force on both sides before very suddenly shrugging the layer off, pulling the sleeves off his arm so roughly he thinks they might rip right off.

They don’t but he wants them to.

With a heavy sigh, he drapes his uniform coat onto the desk chair and pushes it back into his desk, having dislodged it from place when he had been holding onto it. 

He runs a hand through his hair again as he walks over towards his bed, the burst of energy from taking his jacket off gone as he sags into the mattress. For a moment he just sits and breathes, cradling his head in his hands before reaching down to pull his shoes off and straightening them so they align perfectly against the line of the bed frame.

Then he eases himself down to lie on his bed, stretching his legs out. He’s lying below his pillow, not able to bother with the idea of scooting up any further to use it and as a result, he can feel the tips of his toes curl against the wooden end of the bed frame.

He lets his forearm drape over his eyes and breathes deeply into the darkness it provides. His other arm settling loosely across his chest, hand over where his heartbeats.

Throughout all of this- from the library into the hallways and now to lying on his bed, something keeps repeating, the echo of a nearby memory. It is midday on the grass, a gentle breeze, and a hand on his elbow. 

_Well Ingrid,_

His hand clenches the fabric of his white shirt and a very sharp shuddering breath escapes from his throat.

_You got your wish._

And he doesn’t think anything could possibly hurt more.

_I hope you know love._


	7. It's Usually Someone Unexpected Who Gives Advice Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/06PYlfatA0zrksglAr60BU?si=wC1nI_YITI6r4zLV5liW6A)
> 
> [11](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vNikkkPtMxs)

Annette finds him moping around on one of the benches by the dormitories outside, lying stretched across it, his legs dangling off the end. He’s got a book open against his chest that he’s been trying to read for three days but he’s gotten absolutely nowhere with it. He thinks he’s probably skimmed a total of thirty pages and he’s not even entirely sure what it’s about.

Mostly he’s just staring at the sky, feeling pathetic and sorry about himself. It’s really not like him.

It’s cold out, so most of the students have hidden inside somewhere which means that all of the drama in his heart is only witnessed to himself.

Or so he thought.

Her shadow catches him first and then it’s wide blue eyes blinking down alongside an amused smile and cheeks pink from the cold. “Everything okay Sylvain?” She says in lieu of a greeting.

Sylvain sits up slowly with a long drawn out groan, stretching his arms high above his head as the book drops carelessly into his lap and nearly tumbles onto the ground before he catches it between his legs. “Why wouldn’t they be?” He asks when he rights himself, setting the book back properly on his lap.

Annette moves to stand in front of him even when he slides over to offer her a place to sit and frowns with a slight head tilt. “I don’t know, you just seem kind of down lately.”

Well he is. He’s very down.

“That obvious huh?”

Annette’s kind. It shows in her smile and tone and the way she looks at him, sympathetic but not necessarily worried.

“Is this about Ingrid?” She asks very quietly. 

He doesn’t even bother to hide it. He does consider it for a second, thinks about denying it but he’s tired and heartbroken and Annette is sweet and hard to lie to. His shoulders sag down and he leans his back flat on the bench as a cold breeze catches them. “How’d you know?”

Annette presses her lips together and it’s that sympathy again, but he doesn’t hate it from her. “It just kind of seems like you might be avoiding her.”

There is no way to avoid Ingrid. Even when she isn’t in front of him, she’s with him. She is a ringing voice in his head and his heart. He hadn’t realized how much of her he’s seen in the last few months of school. He hadn’t realized how much of a constant in his life she had become until now. It’s stupid how long it took him to see that.

The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that this thing he feels for Ingrid, this heart-twisting stomach-dropping kind of love that stings on every part of his skin, the one that makes his breath falter off-beat and out of time when he sees her, has been brewing for a long long time. Sylvain just hadn’t recognized it until that moment in the library where Dimitri had stood in his place.

It’s should have been him.

He keeps looping back to that conversation on the grass by the plaza. The one where he had confessed that he’d written off love, written it off, and given up on it so readily that he hadn’t even noticed the way it had been slowly creeping in on him.

He didn’t even consider it because Sylvain doesn’t love. He doesn’t know how to. Really, deep down, he doesn’t want it. He still doesn’t want it, not if it feels like this.

Loving Ingrid was a slow accumulation of many moments. It’s the way she throws his door open, startling him awake when he’s about to be late to class, never mind the fact that she’ll be late too because of him. It’s the way she rolls her eyes at him when he says something stupid just to make her laugh. It’s the fact that she goes around apologizing for him when she doesn’t need to, when he doesn’t deserve it, when he never ever asks for it. It’s all those hours spent doing chores side-by-side and how she yells at him to pick up the pace because she doesn’t want to stay out there all day and risk missing dinner.

It’s that horseback ride. The one where he learned how she fit in his arms like no one else had and how she looked under the moon and stars, barely visible and still somehow glowing while they talked about nothing. It’s her fingers in his hair when she kissed him.

She is so deeply a part of him and somehow he never noticed.

Now it hurts to see her. It hurts to see the way she looks at Dimitri. It hurts when she smiles that soft smile at him. It hurts when they chat, in low voices, next to each other in the classroom and together in the halls.

But it also hurts when they don’t.

It hurts when she looks for Sylvain, when she smiles at _him_ , catching his eye because he knows that her heart isn’t his to carry.

“Sylvain?”

He is roused from his spiral by Annette. She’s placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and now she does look worried because it is unlike him to space out like so but he is tired, too tired to hide the way the hurt settles over his body. There’s no reason to. Annette already seems to know.

Ingrid would know if she wasn’t so damn distracted by Dimitri. She would, but she doesn’t, because there’s someone else. 

“ _I’m so stupid_.” He says, shaking his head and leaning forward onto his elbows but before Annette can say anything, before she can tell him he isn’t or say more kind things in that sweet voice of hers, the bubbling of everything mean and angry and jealous explodes out of him before he can stop it. “I just-” he huffs, “I’m in love with her and I just - what, walked her straight into another man’s arms?! What’s wrong with me? Who does that?”

Annette slips into the seat next to him and pats him gently on the shoulder. He has no idea why he’s telling her this. They aren’t particularly close but he can’t talk to Ingrid or Dimitri and he can’t even imagine what Felix would say. 

Felix got the girl.

He buries his face in his hands and breathes in deeply. He hates this. He feels so stuck and stupid. Who would have known that love felt like this? Who would want this?

“You’re not stupid,” Annette says gently. 

He scoffs but then feels immediately guilty. Annette doesn’t deserve any of his ire, doesn’t deserve to get stuck listening to him rant away at how much things suck when he did this to himself.

And really, that’s what gets him the most. He can’t believe he did this to himself.

“You’re not.” She insists.

He sighs. “Sorry Annette. It’s just- this just - this _sucks_.”

Annette’s hand slides off his shoulder and back onto her lap, “Yeah,” she says, “I remember that part.”

His head snaps up and onto her face, eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“When I thought Felix didn’t like me.” She says, “It hurt. It hurt a lot.”

That’s news to him. He remembers Annette tripping on her feet and blushing around Felix. He remembers her stumbling over her words and saying all the wrong things but nothing about that seemed like it hurt. If anything, it looked more like what Ingrid had with Dimitri. A happy fluttering crush at the idea of pursuing someone dreamy. It seemed innocent. Hell, it was the cutest thing he’d seen in a while. 

“But he did,” Sylvain says dumbly.

“Yeah, but I didn’t know that.” She tells him.

He frowns. It’s not even close to the same. “Okay but I _know_ that Ingrid doesn’t like me.”

“How can you be so sure?” 

He remembers the way that Ingrid had whispered to him after he kissed her. How she asked him to kiss her again. How her hands felt in his hair and the way they breathed in time with each other.

He squeezes his eyes shut as if that would shake away the ghost of her lips on his. “She likes Dimitri.”

Annette doesn’t say anything for a moment because she knows this too. Everyone knows it at this point. Ingrid and Dimitri are always together and flirting. It’s hard not to see that there’s something going on there, even if you didn’t know for sure.

He knew for sure though. He spent the entire month trying to get them together like the idiot he is. 

“You’re not even going to try?” Annette asks.

Sylvain shakes his head. “What’s the point? I’m just going to get my heart broken.”

“It just…kind of sounds like your heart is already broken.”

She’s not wrong.

Sylvain sighs again and runs a hand through his hair. There are too many thoughts swirling around in his mind right now but mostly he’s focused on this low throb in his chest that hasn’t gone away since that day in the library and the way each breath he takes feels sharp in his lungs. 

“She hasn’t asked him yet,” Annette says when Sylvain doesn’t say anything.

Sylvain turns, blinking at Annette. “She hasn’t?”

It comes out more quietly than he had intended it to. Just because it was impossible to avoid Ingrid didn’t mean he didn’t damn well try. Their dance practices were thankfully over and he was definitely no longer asking her questions about Dimitri. Sylvain had just assumed that she would have asked the man by now, especially since the ball is in four days, judging by the way things were going with them.

“As far as I know,” Annette says. “You know, it might not be too late.”

Something filters into him. His heart still throbs and aches. He still feels angry and monumentally stupid but for the first time in three days, Sylvain feels a little better, feels a little bit of hope. 

If he can ask her before she asks Dimitri, she might not say no. She might just go with him because it’s easy and then he might have a chance. He could charm her. He could try. He’s going to try.

* * *

Armed with hope and an aching heart, Sylvain does his best to work up the nerve to find Ingrid. This has never been a problem before. He has never been nervous about asking for a date. Hell, he’s already done it once and that had worked out fine. 

He keeps just missing her. He’s directed to the library by Ashe, then to the kitchens by Mercedes, then to the stables by Dedue, and by evening, he still hasn’t found her.

He gets the strong feeling that he’s losing time because every second he doesn’t ask her is another second she could be asking Dimitri.

The panic settles in his gut. He has to find her. 

He’s practically sprinting past the dorms when Dorothea catches him, “Woah, hey,” she says, “where are you going?”

“Have you seen Ingrid?” He asks, sounding desperate.

Dorothea taps her index finger on her cheek, staring at him with a look that he can’t seem to decipher but is definitively annoying. 

“Well?” He pushes when she hums. 

She drops her hand, “She’s in the Knight’s hall.” 

He groans, annoyed. He had just run by there. “Are you sure?” 

“Pretty sure.” Dorothea says, sounding equally annoyed by his tone, “I just saw her there.”

That was also what Ashe and Mercedes and Dedue had said. 

He turns and runs without so much as a goodbye. He’s pretty sure he hears Dorothea call him something rude as he bolts, not caring at all for what she thinks.

* * *

She is not in the Knights Hall.

It’s just like the universe to do this to him. The second he decides to find her, the second he decides to damn well try- to do something while on a damn time crunch, is the second that she is impossible to find.

Figures.

In the end, Ingrid is the one who finds him.

“Sylvain?” She greets, sounding amused, one hand on her hip and a small smile on her face.

He’s slumped against one of the pillars outside of the Knight’s Hall and breathing heavily from all the running around but he knows that the catch in his throat has everything to do with how beautiful she is and nothing to do with how exhausted he is.

“Hey,” he says, breathless.

She raises her eyebrow. “You okay?” At his nod she continues, “I feel like I haven’t seen you all week.”

“Yeah about that -” He starts but then stops, rubbing the back of his neck. He hadn’t really thought about how he could say what he wants to say. He just kind of assumed it would come out of him naturally, as it always does, but it doesn’t. It’s so much harder when you have something to lose. 

_You’re not even going to try?_

Ingrid waits but he doesn’t continue. His words become lodged at his throat. “Um.”

“Okay…” She trails shooting him a look that tells him that he’s doing this all wrong. She’s still smiling though. That’s a good sign, right?

_She hasn’t asked him yet._

“Uh,” he tries again but his mouth is dry. He rubs his palm against the side of his pant leg and takes a deep breath in to steel himself for what he’s going to ask.

_It might not be too late._

“Oh!” Ingrid interrupts, glancing past him and into the Knight’s Hall through the open doors, “wait, hold that thought, I see Dimitri.”

His breath leaves him alongside his heart.

“I’ve finally decided to do it. I’m going to go ask him. How do I look?”

The words he’s about to say, every version of them - _go to the ball with me, dance with me, you’re beautiful, choose me, I love you -_ stamp back down into his throat forming into an ugly lump that he can’t swallow past.

“Oh,” he says quietly. 

Ingrid’s smile is nervous and he watches her jitter in place as she stares past him at where the Prince stands chatting with The Professor. If she notices something off with him, she doesn’t show it, too distracted by the way she’s trying to shake off the last of her nerves. 

She looks so positively hopeful and eager that he can’t bring himself to stop her. He fixes a smile on his face. “You look beautiful.” He says, voice barely able to remain steady. 

At least he said one of those things.

Ingrid pulls him into a quick hug and Sylvain stops breathing, his arms glued to his side as she presses into him and every part of her that touches him burns and stings. “Thanks Sylvain,” she grins releasing him and bounding a step back.

“Yeah,” he says, “anything for you Ingrid.”

But Ingrid doesn’t hear him. She’s already walked through the double doors, taking the last of his heart with her and Sylvain is sure, in that moment, that he will never get it back.


	8. Prom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/06PYlfatA0zrksglAr60BU?si=wC1nI_YITI6r4zLV5liW6A)
> 
> [A Prom Dance Track](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FyASdjZE0R0) and [13](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vco_7PXOSVk)
> 
> Also many thanks to [nicolewrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicole_writes/pseuds/nicole_writes%22) for this gem:

The hall is decadent. The long wooden tables that Sylvain’s used to seeing in the Entrance Hall have been replaced by small round white ones. There’s food everywhere and a very good, _very expensive,_ band plays live music nearby. There’s a good cluster of people dancing, those who aren’t are happily chatting away or clambering to get The Professor to dance with them, everyone except for Sylvain who is doing his best impression of Felix right now.

They’ve swapped somehow.

Not that Felix looks thrilled or anything but he’s letting himself be dragged along onto the floor by Annette, trying desperately not to step on her feet. Annette doesn’t seem to mind though. She’s happily chirping away as Felix’s brow furrows, staring at their feet. He’s a little bit like Ingrid in that way, very dexterous, but not a big fan of dancing so he’s slightly stiff and a little too careful but he’s not a bad dancer. He’s had just as many lessons as the rest of them and he can get by. It just looks like he might be too nervous around Annette’s innate level of clumsiness.

A few months ago, the swordsman probably wouldn’t even have come. A few minutes ago, Sylvain considered the same.

Except it’s out of character for him not to, especially since he made such a big fuss about it but now he can’t quite get in the mood.

Sylvain has no date and no desire to dance. 

He wouldn’t have imagined this a month ago because a month ago, he hadn’t been in love with Ingrid or at least, hadn’t been aware that he had been falling in love with Ingrid. A month ago, Sylvain had been ecstatic, eagerly awaiting the day. He could steal a couple of dances, maybe even a few kisses but tonight, there is none of that.

He’s miserable.

He watches Annette laugh a bit as Felix no doubt grumbles. It seems she has improved quite a bit in the practice leading up to the White Heron Cup and although she barely just got edged out by the champion Dorothea, it doesn’t seem to bother her.

And why would it? She’s dancing with her boyfriend, the grumpiest person in the world, and he’s not complaining, or at least, hasn’t complained yet. He’s just going along with it.

Love sure does change a person.

Sylvain frowns to himself as he continues to stand in the outskirts, scanning the crowd. Ashe did finally manage to steal that dance from Petra and is now leading her carefully on the floor and he can see Ferdinand and Lorenz chatting away, their glasses of what is likely to be juice clinking as they talk about nobility or whatever it is those two talked about. Somewhere nearby, Claude has stolen yet another dance from The Professor and Sylvain is still just standing there, grumbling to himself.

This is really out of character.

He thinks he can probably leave in the next half hour or so. At that point, enough people will have seen him that it would be polite enough to. He’ll probably even find someone to dance with eventually. Maybe he’ll even ask Dorothea but he’s too tired to earnestly try and steal someone away. What Sylvain really needs right now is a friend and all of his friends are tied up in the happy atmosphere. 

He does not want to be that guy. He has spent his entire life avoiding being that guy. He’s made fun of Felix enough times for being so obviously miserable that he would never live it down if he was that guy.

He hasn’t seen Ingrid yet and no part of him wants to. Not when she’ll be on Dimitri’s arm. He knows they came in together and he has actually seen Dimitri around but he hasn’t seen Ingrid yet.

Sylvain knows not to get his hopes up. As House Leader, Dimitri was forced into a few formal dances but eventually, they’ll dance together, spinning around elegantly like Dorothea had taught her to.

“Why do you look like that?” It’s Felix. He’s come up to join him by one of the food tables. He’s not looking at him, instead he’s gazing over the pastries with a frown.

Sylvain fixes a practiced smile on his face, “Look like what?”

Felix doesn’t look up, instead he reaches for the nuts in the bowl. Typical Felix, a buffet full of sweets and confectioneries and he goes straight for the pistachios. “Whatever.” He says.

“Where’s Annette?” Sylvain asks turning back to the scan the room for the girl. He notices that Dorothea has now stolen Petra away, twirling the young girl on the floor. 

“Went off with Mercedes.” Felix answers, also turning to scan the crowd. He leans a bit against the table as he does so. 

Sylvain grins. “Bet she wanted a break from your feet.”

“I didn’t step on her.” His friend grumbles.

“Didn’t say that you did.” 

Felix scoffs. They settle next to each other for a bit. Sylvain shoves his hands in his pockets.

Then he sees her. Ingrid, bathed in the glow of the brightly lit hall, striding across the floor with Dimitri who spins her. Her hair is out of her usual braid, falling down across her back. She has a wide smile on her face, one that Dimitri shares, and he swears he can hear her laugh, even when she’s so far away.

She’s stunning.

Sylvain wants to turn away, wants to look at anything else because watching her with Dimitri just plain hurts but he also can’t deny the way she looks, beautiful as she dances - like she’s floating.

 _I did that,_ he thinks, _I did that for her._

The way she smiles right now, the way she spins in Dimitri’s arms, it’s all because of him.

He’s struck by her, mesmerized, and he can’t turn away, not even when his chest hurts, hurts so bad he wants to brace his hand against it and push, push so hard that maybe his heart will come out the other side, just so he doesn’t have to feel it anymore.

He completely forgets that Felix is right next to him, forgets until he hears his friend’s voice. “Why don’t you just ask her to dance?”

He’s thankful to Felix for shocking him out of his daze because it is Felix that has Sylvain tearing his eyes away and it is Ingrid disappearing out of his line of sight that shifts the constant biting stab into a dull manageable throb. 

“She’s with Dimitri.” He says, glaring. Felix doesn’t seem to mind. He glares all the time. 

Felix shrugs, “When has that ever stopped you?”

“It’s Dimitri.”

“So?”

“Felix,” Sylvain sighs, “It’s _Dimitri_.”

Felix’s crosses his arms, “ _So?_ ”

Sylvain’s not going to try to explain it. Not when he knows for a fact that Felix knows exactly what he means. If it were anyone else, maybe - maybe Sylvain would have made a fool of himself. Maybe he would have gone up to Ingrid and charm her away anyway. He would have fought harder for her instead of just letting her go. 

But it’s Dimitri and Dimitri is his friend. He’s a friend who has also gone through a lot, who also deserves the world. They are good for each other. Just watching the way they laugh and dance tells him as much.

And one day, they can get married and Ingrid can be a queen and they can have beautiful blonde babies or whatever. 

Whatever.

Sylvain can’t help the way his breath catches in his throat at the thought. He squeezes his eyes shut but the image only solidifies further.

If they end up together…he’s not really sure he can be around them, not if he has to watch them be like this all the time.

Maybe he can move somewhere. He’ll just quit school and hide in Castle Fraldarius and hang out with Felix and Annette instead.

That’ll work, right?

He turns to Felix, about to ask, when Felix says, “Tell her anyway.”

Sylvain frowns, “What’ll that do?”

“Better than this,” Felix says, waving a hand in Sylvain’s general direction.

“What’s this?”

Felix groans, “Somehow, you’re even more annoying like this than you were before and I don’t want to have to deal with it. So just, tell her. It’s what I did.”

“That’s different though.” Sylvain says, “Annette had the world’s most obvious crush on you. You had nothing to lose.”

“What do you have to lose now?”

Felix isn’t wrong. He’s also sounding distinctively like Annette right now - well not exactly like Annette, Annette was a lot nicer about it, but they’re both essentially saying the same thing.

But it’s easy to say it when it worked out for them.

Happy couples. Psh.

Still, he’s not wrong. Sylvain’s heart is already broken and he’s been avoiding Ingrid for the last few days anyway.

But then he looks at Ingrid, looks at the way she smiles happily at Dimitri and realizes.

 _That._ He could lose that. 

* * *

“Dance with me?” 

She’s snuck right up to him. Sylvain hadn’t even been paying attention. He was just about to leave to go and sulk the rest of the night away when Ingrid’s voice sings by his ear.

He almost jumps but he’s still got some dignity left.

She’s smiling. Her cheeks are pink from all the dancing but he knows that she’s mostly happy about the food because he watched her all but drag Dimitri off the floor to eat as they chatted happily away about babies or whatever.

He frowns a little, hoping that it comes off inquisitive instead of pathetically pining, “Where’s your date?”

Ingrid throws her thumb over her shoulder and Sylvain follows it, barking out a laugh when he sees the way Claude swings Dimitri around. Dimitri looks absolutely puzzled. 

“How did that -?” Sylvain starts but then he shakes his head, “Never mind, it’s funnier if I don’t know.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes at him and even that feels refreshing somehow. It feels like it’s been a while since that’s happened, since it’s just been the two of them. She holds a hand out to him. “Dance?”

There is no nervousness in her expression. No sign of hemming and hawing, of worrying over her appearance. The question simply slips from her lips and it just reminds him of all the things he isn’t to her. 

That doesn’t change the way he reaches for her though, doesn’t change the way she guides him to the floor, always leading, her hands resting in position like they’ve done a hundred times now.

It is easy to dance with her. The steps are automatic. They’ve danced so many times in the last few weeks that there is no way for him to forget the way they move together, the way his body responds to hers. 

Ingrid smiles up at him. It is warm and soft and everything he feels for her rushes onto the surface of his skin. The places they touch burn and tingle and sting but they’re also comforting, familiar, and steady. It’s dizzying this close to her, and he feels himself ignite under her gaze. Ingrid has always glowed but he glows beside her too. It’s all the longing and comfort and love. It is painful and yet he never wants to step away from it.

“This is familiar.” She says quietly, stepping closer to him.

He thinks, barely breathing, her bedroom and the chrysanthemums he gave her. He thinks, the way they squeezed together, carefully maneuvering around the chair and the bed frame and the stack of books on the floor and how her foot tripped on her rug the first time she tried. He thinks, the kiss they shared and the way he wishes they could have stayed together like that forever.

Would she have loved him then if he kissed her longer? 

He should have kissed her again the second Ashe left. He should have pushed her against the door without another word and let his hands wander. He should have fallen backwards onto her bed and pulled her to him.

He should have never ever let her go.

“We’ve gotten pretty good at this.” He says but the words come out slightly croaked and he has to clear his throat. 

Her lips quirk, playful. “I almost miss it.”

He wants to say, _we can dance anytime you’d like_ , but instead, he says, “All those dawn practices? No thank you.”

“You were never really a morning person.”

“Still aren’t.”

“Thank you though. For doing it anyway.”

He wants to say, _anything for you Ingrid._ He’s said it before, but this time it just stays lodged in his throat. He nods instead and then he can’t look at her anymore. He can only look past her, over the top of her head, glad that she is so much smaller than him and watches the world spin slowly as he guides her.

They dance without words for a moment and it feels like the room hushes with the way they do. The music falls away to the silent practice of that evening in her bedroom. If he closes his eyes, maybe he can almost pretend that he’s there again. Maybe the less she says the better it is. Maybe he just wants to hold her while he still can.

But then the sound somehow rushes back when the song ends and in the space between the last song and the next, the murmurs of the crowd fills in the melody of the drumbeats of his heart against his ears.

Ingrid’s hands slide from his and his shoulder to settle flat against his chest to push him back a bit, just enough that she can see his face and catch his gaze.

“Everything okay?” She asks, concerned.

Ah, she finally noticed. Took her long enough. 

He wants to say no but he shrugs instead. “Yeah,” he tells her, “Everything’s good.”

He spots Dimitri waiting alone nearby, finally having escaped Claude, who has now swept up a very alarmed looking Edelgard. In any normal circumstance, Sylvain would have laughed at the murderous look on Hubert’s face.

Ingrid lets it go and steps away from him. Her hands falling back at her sides. “Okay,” she says with a kind smile, “Thanks for the dance Sylvain.”

He nods and smiles back. This one feels real. He thinks all of his smiles with her are real, even when he doesn’t want them to be. 

But then she’s turning, then she’s walking away, and then Felix’s voice is in his ear again and it says, _What do you have to lose?_

And he’s still thinking about Ingrid, still thinking about that smile on her face, at the way she looked at Dimitri, exuberant and happy.

But she had looked at him too hadn’t she?

It was warm. It was soft.

It was that smile she gave him under the moonlight, it’s _I’m having a good time._

His hand catches her wrist mid-step towards Dimitri. The next song has started, a couple dances in front of them that he doesn’t bother to register, blocking the prince from sight and the way Dimitri disappears behind them spurns the rapid beating of Sylvain’s heart, spurns his quiet breathless words to her.

“Goddess Tower. At Eleven. Meet me there?”

She doesn’t get a chance to answer. Sylvain wouldn’t be able to hear it even if she does, not with the noise beating in his head, not with how dizzy he feels from the way her wrist sears into his hand and he can do nothing more but drop her hand and run, hiding deep in the crowd before exiting out the door. 


	9. The Grand Romantic Gesture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/06PYlfatA0zrksglAr60BU?si=wC1nI_YITI6r4zLV5liW6A)
> 
> [End](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TLeLgq2_B40)

Sylvain gets to the Goddess Tower way too early. He can’t stay in that ballroom anymore. He can’t stand the thought of the expression that might be on Ingrid’s face. It’s why he didn’t look at her when he ran away because, at the end of the day, Sylvain’s a coward. 

The winter breeze is cool but every part of Sylvain feels hot, hot enough for him to shed his jacket, throwing it over the banister while he paces. Every part of him buzzes and hums but it does not feel good. In fact, he almost feels sick, and if it weren’t for the fact that he’d barely touched any of the food, he could mistake it for that.

It’s not that. He knows what this is. This is anticipation. This is waiting. This is the moment his heart suspends for the possibility of a full and complete break.

He still has half an hour.

He pulls at his collar, even though he never buttoned it, trying to loosen it more as if it would help his breath come in more slowly. Somewhere nearby, he can hear the echoes of giggles, no doubt another pair caught up in the superstition of the romance in the tower.

Sylvain’s not superstitious. Ingrid isn’t either. That isn’t the point of this. He’s not here because of some silly little legend that he doesn’t believe in. He’s here, in this place, because it means something. 

It’s not quite a confession. It is a promise of one. 

_Love me._

Time ticks on. Sylvain tortures himself a little more with every minute and tries to think of what to say.

But he has never been particularly good at planning. He’s good at strategizing, good at finding ways to circumvent what’s expected of him but everything in his life has been planned for him. The most control he feels has is in the recklessness of his impulsive actions.

So he doesn’t rehearse his speeches. Even his endless lines aren’t pre-planned. He acts, charging and charming ahead. He lives to react off of what someone says and doles out compliments easily but he does not rehearse them.

And there’s no point because he knows that the second he sees her- if he sees her, he will say nothing he thinks of. His hands shake at the idea of nothing coming out right but maybe that is the only way for it to be. Maybe he just needs to speak from the heart in whatever messy godawful way that is. 

How does one confess their love earnestly?

He’s said it before. Sylvain has told many people that he loved them and meant none of it. Not in this way.

Will she even believe him? She has to right? 

Time ticks on. Sylvain loses track of it in his pacing.

Ingrid does not come.

* * *

Sylvain slumps against the stone wall, one of his knees is up to support where his arm hangs, the other is stretched flat on the floor. It’s been long enough that he knows it’s over. Ingrid is hardly ever late; her lack of presence is deliberate.

That’s what he gets for missing it for so long, he supposes.

Sometimes nothing comes from the way you bare your heart. Sometimes you do it and you are met only with silence. Sylvain knows this, he is just usually on the other end of it.

His head rests back against the wall, tilting upwards to a ceiling he can’t see because his eyes are closed and his breathing is even and slow.

At least he got his breath back even if each one feels a little too sharp, stings as it comes in and out.

Everything stings.

But mostly he is exhausted. Love is exhausting and draining. It is holding a hand out when you’re falling but having no one there to catch you when you crash down. It is the kind of crash that makes you just lie there for a moment, not because you are so injured that you can’t move but because you are so utterly defeated by the fall that you can’t bring yourself to get up.

He wants to go back to bed and stare at the ceiling and yet he doesn’t move because love is also this other thing he’s never had.

It’s that little burning flame of hope that flickers on and on because _is it really over_ even when he knows it is.

Because Ingrid still isn’t here and she’s probably not coming.

He doesn’t want tomorrow to come because tomorrow he will be met with her smiling face, with her apology and life will continue on.

For now, he just wants to sit with it. Sit with the way it feels, heavy in his gut, horrible and yet somehow refreshing because he has never felt something like this before, has never felt a heartbreak so pure, has never loved someone so much that he can still feel somehow happy by the fact that he’s loved at all.

He’s loved. He never thought he could. She did that for him. It hurts like hell but it’s a little miraculous too.

Ingrid is a little bit like his miracle. 

He can’t help the soft sad smile on his face when he thinks about it, when he pictures her.

At least she’s happy. He’ll just have to be happy about that. He’ll just have to learn to live with that and the kiss they shared. He’ll hold onto that forever, he thinks. He had been close. He held her in his arms. For one beautiful night, they were each others. He’s still hers, she just doesn’t want him.

Sylvain will have to learn how to be okay with that. Just not right now.

Nearby, he catches the sound of quiet footsteps but before his heart can hope more again, she speaks.

“Didn’t think I’d find you here alone.”

Dorothea’s voice is a soft quiet song in the broken night sky where the moon is hidden by the way the clouds mist in front of it.

When he blinks open, she is standing a few feet in front of him. Her hand is on her hip but it’s not the usual look she gives him, the one of light mostly playful suspicion and judgement. It is a look that’s as soft as her voice. It tells him that she knows exactly what this is about. 

It makes sense. She’s been with them the most the last few weeks after all. 

He doesn’t answer her, instead he just breathes. It’s not quite a sigh, it’s more like wishing she was someone else.

Somehow, Dorothea’s voice is even softer when she asks, “What are you doing?”

He wouldn’t have heard her had it not been for the loneliness in the tower tonight.

“Getting my heart broken,” He says as she moves to sit next to him. “Again.”

Dorothea sags next to him, her knees tucked under her because of her skirt, and if she’s bothered by the cold tile, she says nothing about it. The sigh she lets out sounds just as tired as his. “Join the club.”

Normally, if he wasn’t feeling so damn sorry for himself, he probably would have snapped his head up and tried to say something nice but today, nothing comes. 

His voice wavers, “What am I supposed to do now?” 

Dorothea is quiet for a moment, if he turns to look, he might catch her biting her lip. “Move on I guess?”

His head goes back against the wall as he closes his eyes again. “How does one move on from Ingrid Galatea?”

“You know…” he hears, feeling her shoulder brush his as she shifts, “I’m still trying to figure that one out.”

He breathes in a sharp breath, turning to look at her and catching her profile. “Wow, really?”

Somehow, he hadn’t expected that, but at the same time, he is not surprised by it.

Dorothea nods with a sad smile, picking at her skirt.

“How do you do it?” He asks, “How do you look at her everyday? Stay friends?”

She hums a little, “It gets easier,” she tells him, “eventually. It sucks at first but then maybe you get lucky. Maybe you find ways to cope. Find people to help you cope.”

“I don’t know if I even want to cope.”

He can hear the smile in her voice. “Didn’t realize you were a masochist.”

“Maybe just a little.” He says, “I think I’m just enjoying feeling sorry for myself right now.”

“That’s okay too you know.” She says, “But don’t sit with it for too long. It’ll eat you alive.”

“Don’t really know how to do anything else right now.”

“Then I’ll sit with you, for a little while at least.”

Sylvain barely manages a little thanks. 

Dorothea is not like Annette who is soft and keeps a hand on his shoulder. Idealistic and romantic enough to lightly encourage him to run across the campus, racing towards this beautiful thing that she believes love could be. She is not like Felix who tackles it, almost too aggressively, and pushes. She is not like Ingrid who would try so hard to earnestly try to fix it.

There is no fixing it.

Instead, Dorothea is a fellow traveler, a kindred spirit. He is thankful for that at least.

* * *

“Hey, Dorothea,” he says after a long quiet while, “Are you okay?”

She finally looks at him, there is a small smile on her face, her eyes are dry and there’s an earnestness that he fully believes from her when she speaks. “Yeah,” she says, “I really am.”

“I’m sorry I made you help.” He winces, “That must not have been easy.”

Dorothea actually laughs. It is a beautiful thing in this cold night and empty tower hall. It lifts him just a little bit to think that he might be able to be where she is eventually. “It wasn’t anything.” She says, “It didn’t hurt as bad as you think. And I didn’t do it for you.”

“Wish I could be you.”

“Trust me Sylvain, you don’t want to be me.” Dorothea sighs, “I’m just at that point where it’s done. I’ve said what I needed to say but that doesn’t mean that Ingrid means any less to me. She’s my friend. I want her to be happy and I mean that. I’m okay with that, are you?”

He thinks of Ingrid and Dimitri and a little bit of offense creeps into his voice, “Of course I want her to be happy.”

“I’m not saying you don’t.” She says calmly, “I’m asking if you’re going to be okay with how things are now. Have you said what you needed to say?”

He sighs, “What does it matter?” 

“It matters.” She tells him quietly. “You should talk to her.”

“I asked her to meet me here to do that. She didn’t come. That feels pretty done to me.”

She shakes her head at him. “What, you’re just never going to talk to her again?” When he hangs his head, she continues, “Knock on her door or talk to her tomorrow. Whatever - just don’t leave things as they are now.”

“She’s got Dimitri now. I don’t want to cause any more drama.”

Dorothea rolls her eyes, “I’m not saying you should. I’m saying that it’ll help you let go. Ingrid’s Ingrid, she’ll listen. It’ll be okay.”

He lets both of his legs stretch out in front of him, dropping his hands into his lap. “I kind of just want to give up and not deal with it.”

“Well,” Dorothea says, “I can’t really fault you for that. Actually, I can, but I get it.”

He’s thankful for that. A part of him really wants to fight for Ingrid. He does, really, but the rest of him, the one that sees her smiling face, the one that remembers all the chats they had about Dimitri and remembers how happy she looked fluttering around with him can’t.

Dimitri is good for her. Sylvain’s got a lot of baggage. Ingrid knows all of it. He doesn’t want her to carry any more of that, not when she wants to be with someone else. 

“Felix and Annette both think I should chase her.” 

“Felix and Annette are happy.” Dorothea says, “Love looks simple when you’re happy but even that takes work. That being said, I don’t think it’s a bad idea.”

“It’s _Dimitri,_ ” He says for the third time that day, “And he’s a literal prince. What the hell do I have to offer that he doesn’t do better?”

Dorothea stands, brushing her skirt off, “You should see the way you look at her.”

He blinks, very confused by the sudden shift. “How do I look at her?”

“Like you never want to stop.” She says simply, moving to stand directly in front of him. “It’s getting late, I’m going to head back unless...you want me to stay?”

Sylvain shakes his head, “Nah,” he says waving her away, “I think I’m going to sit here for a little longer. Thanks for tonight though Dorothea.”

Dorothea smiles at him and seems to hesitate for a second before finally bidding him goodnight but not before telling him not to stay up all night, leaving him to the quiet of his throbbing heart and the darkness that comes with his eyelids shut.

It’s late. Even those hiding in the Goddess Tower for stolen midnight kisses must have retired by now. It’s just him and the cracks of a heart he doesn’t have the desire to fix and soft footsteps he misses.

“Hey Sylvain.” A voice calls. “Sorry I’m late.”

His eyes blink open.

It’s Ingrid.


	10. The Rooftop Confession Scene Except It's Not Really On A Roof

Ingrid stands at the top of the stairs. In the darkness of the midnight hour with only the moon and stars creeping in from the balcony and the very faint light from beyond the staircase, he can’t make out her expression. He can only see the way she stands, tall, but with her hands clasped in front of her.

And yet that is somehow beautiful too.

He wonders what he must look like, alone in the Goddess Tower, slumped against the wall with his hands in his lap. Probably not very good. Probably not very attractive or charming.

“Didn’t think you were coming,” he says, slowly rising from the floor, bracing his hands against the wall for support. Sylvain cannot approach her, he doesn’t think he has it in him to try.

Something in his chest burns and he is not sure if it’s hope or hurt.

Ingrid takes a few steps forward but does not close the distance any further than that. “I thought you would have left by now.”

Sylvain shrugs. He doesn’t have an answer he wants to share.

Ingrid wrangles her hands together, chin tilting down towards them, “I knocked on your door. When you weren’t there, I thought I should come by and check.”

He’s almost too afraid to ask but he swallows, clenching his fist and makes himself, “Why didn’t you come earlier?”

“I lost track of time,” she says, sounding apologetic.

Ingrid forgot about him. 

Because he isn’t something to remember when she’s with someone else. 

“Oh.” 

It’s all he can say. It’s the only thing that comes out that isn’t messily bottled up hurt. He thinks he can feel the start of tears in his eyes. Who would have thought that Sylvain José Gautier would find himself crying over a girl? Over Ingrid? Certainly not him.

When he says nothing more, Ingrid takes another step forward. He wants to take a step back but the wall is still behind him. There is nowhere for him to go. 

“I was with Dimitri,” she says.

He can’t help the way his strangled breath catches even when he already knows and in the silence of the still night, there is no way Ingrid does not hear it. Sylvain wonders if he can play it off as something else. He wonders if he should.

That night on the blanket under the stars comes to his mind. He holds desperately onto that, holds desperately onto the way they had laughed together about the answers he used to have about romance and love.

He has no answers for this. He only has Ingrid in front of him and the words she says that hurt his heart. 

“Dimitri kissed me.”

Sylvain’s eyes shut alongside the sharp inhale he takes, his head turns on its own to the side, turns away from Ingrid even when he can’t see her and it isn’t until he exhales that he’s managed to somehow find his voice, not quite wavering but close to.

“How was it?”

_Does he kiss you like I do?_

Ingrid hesitates. Her hands drop to her side, “Good.”

He doesn’t want to hear this. 

Her reply spurns him into movement. He can’t be in here anymore. He can’t listen to her talk about Dimitri, talk about kissing him when all he wants to do is push her against the wall and hold her face in his hands whispering love until he’s hoarse and dry-mouthed and tongue-twisted from want.

He can’t be here. He strides forward, standing as tall as he can. It’s only forty or so steps to the stairwell. He can make forty steps. He can come back for his jacket left abandoned on the railing tomorrow.

“It’s late,” he says as firmly as possible. And he’s hoping that she can’t see how badly he wants to cry, how the ache in his throat colors the way he sounds. “I’m going to -”

Ingrid catches his wrist before he can get any farther, a direct mirror from the dance floor before. 

“It was good,” she says again slowly and Sylvain doesn’t know why she’s doing this. Why she’s insisting on telling him again. He gets it. He doesn’t need to hear it again. “So why can’t I stop thinking about you?”

His head whips back. Ingrid takes the opportunity to spin him. Now she is the one with the balcony behind her and they are close enough for him to see the way she looks at him even without much light.

“What?” He breathes, barely.

“You’re the expert,” she says, chewing on her lip. She drops his wrist and he misses it. The ghost of her skin on his lingers onwards. He can’t help but be distracted by it. “Explain it to me.”

“Uh-”

No words come to him. His brain has hit a dead stop. There is no more track for his train of thoughts to go. Sylvain is wide-eyed and staring and filling with something that’s building and building from his toes all the way up to his chest. He thinks he’s shaking. He doesn’t know.

“I was with Dimitri,” she says when his mouth goes dry, “We had a lovely time. He was a perfect gentleman. I danced the way you taught me to. We went for a walk, he gave me his jacket and we chatted so long I lost track of time. Then he saw me to my door and he kissed me and it was good, s _o how come I spent the whole night missing you?_ ”

Sylvain’s heart stutters. He thinks she can feel it even without touching him. It’s just so loud that there’s no way she doesn’t feel the way his heartbeat shakes the ground. 

Everything about Ingrid is blinding and blazing. He can’t help but look at her, can’t help but catch her eye. She is almost glaring but not quite. It’s something else. He doesn’t know the name of it.

“I- maybe -” nothing sounds right, “it’s because, erm, because I haven’t been around?”

That was stupid. Why did he say that?

Her tone shifts. It’s blazing and hard and something else he can’t read. “And why is that?” She snaps. And he realizes it’s hurt. “Where’ve you been?”

He frowns, he can’t help it. He’s hurt too. “I didn’t think you noticed.”

“Of course I noticed!” 

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because you weren’t around!”

“Oh, like you’ve been around,” He has no idea how they got to the point where they’re both shouting, “You’ve been circling around Dimitri this whole time!”

“Because you told me to!”

He’s so struck by her comment that he actually takes a step back. His brain whirls on a mile a minute. “What?”

Ingrid ignores him, she continues, barreling ahead like she always does, like he loves. “What am I supposed to make of all this Sylvain?!” She asks, sounding desperate, “You take me on this beautiful date and it’s just…we spend the whole time talking about all the ways you know how to charm someone and then you kiss me and then avoid me and then you ask me to meet you here at the tower tonight? What am I supposed to do with that?”

He feels himself soften, “Ingrid,” he tries, feeling brave. He takes that step forward, back to her. 

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” She admits, looking down at her shoes. “Dimitri is perfect and I can’t stop thinking about you. What does that mean?”

Sylvain catches her hand, that little spark of hope that he held onto now blazes in his chest. “I think it means you like me,” he whispers with a bit of a smile that he hopes she can see.

Ingrid shakes her head. “No,” she whispers back, but before he can panic, her own smile blossoms and there’s something in her eyes that shine, “I’m pretty sure it means I love you.” 

Sylvain kisses her. There is nothing he can think of to do and say other than kiss her. It is slow and steady. His hands cup her face as he leans down and he pours all of the warmth he can into it, into her, and she does the same.

“I love you,” he says when they finally barely part, breathless and quiet, “Ingrid I love you.”

Confusingly, Ingrid’s smile drops from her face as she tilts her head up, “How can I know for sure?” Her voice is so quiet. He’s never seen her like this, never seen her so disarmed and terrified.

He leans his forehead against hers, eyes closing as he takes her in, then he lets his hands trace down her arms to her hands, bringing one up to his heart, holding it against him. “I’ll prove it to you.” 

It’s a request.

Ingrid nods, barely, before speaking, her breath on his. “It’s fast.”

“It’s yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Roll Credits](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8lx711FflWw)


	11. Every Movie Has an End Credit Montage Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for following along everyone! This is a little bit like my cheeky love letter to the romcom genre with some of my favorite tropes. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I have. It was nice to do something low pressure and fun after doing something more serious. I think there's definitely a lot of deleted scenes I would have liked to do but I was trying to get through this as quickly as possible ha, maybe one day I'll write them. 
> 
> Also, some movies close out with their [Title Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mp5YWm5VHwQ) don't they?

Light laughter filters in from the courtyard. It’s way too cold for anyone to be outside but he supposes the cold is a good excuse for a new couple to huddle together. It’s why Ingrid and Sylvain are standing so close, his arm thrown lazily over her shoulder as he ducks his head to whisper something into her ear. Ingrid flushes pinker at whatever sweet nothing was said and weakly smacks Sylvain on the chest, very clearly not offended.

“We weren’t like that were we?” Felix asks, arms crossed with disdain. He stares at two-thirds of his childhood friends from across the way. They haven’t noticed him, or anything else for that matter.

Annette turns to him. They had been on their way back to the dorms. “Like what? Oh,” she says when she spots them. Sylvain has stopped Ingrid to turn and brush a strand of her hair behind her ear. A small smile grows on Ingrid’s face and soon, they’re laughing again at something. 

“I think it’s sweet,” Annette says, “They look really happy.”

 _They better be_.

Felix keeps his frown fixed on his face but lets his arms drop to his side. “I think it’s a lot.”

Honestly, it’s a little odd seeing them like that. On the surface, Sylvain looks like he always does, flirting and charming, the only real difference is that the girl under his arm is Ingrid and not someone Felix never bothered to know the name of. 

Annette’s hand finds his, “I’m glad it worked out.”

He grunts in acknowledgment, but then, after a while, he speaks, a little quiet. “Thanks for talking to him.”

“I would have done it anyway,” Annette says with a smile.

* * *

Dorothea is in the chapel when he finds her. Sylvain hears her before he sees her and slides into one of the pews to wait for her to finish choir practice. Really, her singing voice is unlike any other, although he does personally prefer Ingrid’s voice, even if it kind of sounds like a slightly off-key toad on occasion. 

He stands when Dorothea approaches and she leans her hip against the pew in front of him. 

“Sorry for the wait,” she says, “what was it you wanted to talk about?”

Sylvain’s not really sure how to go about this so he does it the only way he knows how - without any planning whatsoever. “So uh, I wanted to touch base about something.”

Dorothea raises an eyebrow but gestures for him to continue.

“Ingrid and I are together now.” He says awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, “And, well, given what happened the other night, I thought you should know and I didn’t really want to hear it from anyone else.”

There’s a silence that follows. Dorothea’s expression is hard to read. A slow creeping dread fills him. He cares about Dorothea, he doesn’t want to hurt her more than he has to.

Dorothea stares. When Sylvain says nothing more, she finally rolls her eyes. “Is that all?”

“Uh yeah?”

She sighs, “Goddess Sylvain, I thought something happened.”

“I mean…it did?”

Dorothea shakes her head a little, clearly exasperated, “I ran into Ingrid on the way out and I’m not an idiot. I figured it out.”

“Oh, well, okay yeah. But I guess I was just wondering…if you were okay?”

“What would happen if I wasn’t? Would you break up with her?”

Sylvain recoils, “What? No! Of course not but uh, you’re my friend and you’re Ingrid’s friend and I didn’t want to make things awkward or anything and we both kind of had that whole shared heartbreak thing but now, you know, Ingrid and I are together so…”

Dorothea laughs at his obvious discomfort, “Sylvain,” she says, “I meant what I said, I’m fine and I’m happy for you.”

He smiles, relieved, and is struck by how much he admires her. Dorothea is amazing. He hopes that she finds her person someday. Maybe…Dimitri? He’s newly single right? Oh lord. Maybe not.

“Okay,” he says, shaking his head, “Cool. So we’re good?”

“We’re good.” She smiles.

Sylvain leads them out towards the church doors. It’s a beautiful day. He honestly can’t think of anything that could possibly sour his mood now that he knows that he and Dorothea are good.

“Oh Sylvain,” Dorothea says the second the brilliant winter sun warms their faces.

“Yeah?”

She turns him, there’s a small somehow threatening smile on her face, “If you hurt her. I will _gut you._ ”

“Noted.”

* * *

Sylvain is lying on her dorm room floor pouting as she scribbles away at her lecture notes. He is being very dramatic about her lack of attention and she is doing a very good job at pretending to be busy. The truth is, Ingrid finished organizing her lecture notes fifteen minutes ago but Sylvain had been too much of a drama queen to notice.

“ _Ingriiiiid_ ” He whines, sprawled out next to her. His fingers twirl around the legs of the chair, tapping a rhythm that would normally drive her crazy.

She has no idea why he is on the floor, not when there is a perfectly good bed for him to lay on.

She blushes instantly at the thought and shakes it away. “Yes, Sylvain?”

“Are you done yet?” 

“Nope.” She lies easily.

He lifts his arm just to flop it onto the floor. She knows he’s only doing it so she can hear the thump. It’s supposed to make her feel guilty. She feels no such thing.

He huffs when she continues to ignore him, bringing his hands to his chest and laces them to twiddle his thumbs. 

He’s silent for all of thirty seconds. “Hey Ingrid,”

“Hmm?”

“Uh, I was just thinking…” He says, and the way he says it, curious but also a little reserved has her finally peer down at him. His lips are twisted, not quite into a frown, but clearly a bit uncomfortable.

She puts her notes down and scoots her chair back a bit, just so she can show him that he now has her attention. “What is it?”

“Uh, how did you deal-?” His face screws up at his wording but he continues on, “-with Dimitri?”

Ingrid smiles, “I told you, we decided we were better off as friends.”

“Okay I know that,” he says, rising into a sitting position, “But what I mean is, is he really okay with that?”

“I think so,” she says, “I don’t think he would lie about that.”

“I just feel kind of bad about it,” he admits, “Dimitri’s my friend and I kind of…jumped right in there.”

“The date was fine,” she tells him, “but I think we both felt that there was something missing. I don’t think he liked me as much as you think he did or as much as he hoped he did.”

Sylvain frowns, “Well he’s an idiot.”

Ingrid laughs at how serious he sounds and then lowers herself onto the floor next to him, pushing the chair aside. “Isn’t this supposed to be a good thing for you?”

“Oh right,” Sylvain says. He fixes his face to something overly cheerful. “I’m glad he doesn’t like you!”

She lightly shoves him and he feigns nearly falling over before righting himself back up. He takes her hand when he does but then he frowns. “Hey, wait, I thought you said the date was good? That it was perfect.”

“I mean, it _was_ good.”

“You just said it was ‘fine’, that’s not the same as good.”

“Since when were you so pedantic?”

“I’m not!” He insists, “I’m just trying to see where it falls in comparison to our date.”

“You mean our fake date?”

“It wasn’t fake.”

Ingrid raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, it was a little fake-just, you know, just at first.” He admits, then he grins, “Was it the kiss? Was Dimitri bad at it? Is that what made you decide to choose me? Because my mouth is-”

She shoves her hand over his mouth, the rest of his words thankfully muffled. “The kiss was fine!” 

“Ha!” He says, prying her hand off. He looks utterly triumphant. “Back at the tower, you said the kiss was good but now it’s just fine! I knew it! It was a bad kiss!”

“It was not a bad kiss.” She insists.

“What did he do? Did he shove his tongue down your throat too early? Chapped lips? Taste weird?”

Ingrid buries her head in her hands to try to keep from laughing, “Stop!” She says, but she’s grinning too hard for there to be any force behind her words.

“He totally tasted weird didn’t he?”

Ingrid shakes her head at him. She cannot believe that this is the man she loves. When their combined laughter subsides, she gives him a cheeky grin. “He missed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry Dimitri  
> Some romcoms end with an end credit title drop right?
> 
>   
>    
> 


End file.
